


Fireworks and Lightning Strikes

by AnonAnton



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Bisexual Castiel, Bisexual Dean, Blind Date, Closeted Dean, Coming Out, Explosions, Fireworks, Fluff and Angst, Goth Castiel, Homophobia, John is a good dad!, Kinda, M/M, Mary is Not Nice, Mechanic Dean, Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Child Neglect, Past Homelessness, Pierced Castiel, Shy Castiel, Socially Awkward Castiel, Tattooed Castiel, Uncle Dean, house fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-07-26 17:29:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 45,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7583236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonAnton/pseuds/AnonAnton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Writing for the SPN Writing Challenge on Tumblr, July's Summer theme, prompt "Fireworks." Warnings and tags etc may change!</p>
<p>Two men with entirely different backgrounds and different lives find peace together during an awe inspiring disaster. With their lives being pushed and pulled in various directions will these two find happiness together or will their differences flare back in to dislike?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean was hiding.

 

He could admit it to himself quite happily. He was definitely hiding. Everyone else in the crowded house, on the other hand, believed he was looking for the stash of chips John kept in the garage next to his mini fridge that was kept full with his favourite beer. He had picked up the large multi-pack five minutes ago, but was leaning against his Dad's Impala, staring at the abnormally tidy wall, hung with tools and stacked jam jars of bolts and washers on neat shelves. He was trying to zen himself out with deep breathing before re-entering the mayhem within the walls of his parents home.

 

His mother, despite her demure appearance, was a force to be reckoned with at the best of times. Once his little sister and youngest brother, a strange duo, sided with his mother's twisted fantasies though, he really had no hope.

 

“Dean!” Dean flinched visibly at the greeting, dropping the bag of chips that he had been repeatedly clenching in his sweaty fist. “There's no point hidin' son.” The old man, all salt 'n pepper hair and beard, smiled kindly, smoothing a hand over the roof of his beloved car as he entered the room. “You know when those three get somethin' in their heads, they can't let it go. Best just to go along with it kiddo”

 

Dean sighed and slumped against the car again. “Yeah. I know. It's just- I thought we were here for Eileen, y'know? And then they go springing this shit on me.” John leant against the car door next to Dean, licking his thumb and rubbing at an invisible patch of dirt on the wing mirror, waiting for him to continue. “I guess I just don't get why they think it's necessary. I'm happy Dad. Everything's great, I don't need anything else at the moment.”

 

John patted his son on the shoulder, about as close to a hug as the man got. “Come on. It won't get any better from out here, and if there's food, maybe their attention will be pulled from you a little. You know what Millie's like when snacks are near by. And who knows, maybe the girl will be nice? The date could be good for you, you never know Dean.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes behind his Dad's back and silently mimicked his speech, wobbling his head along with it fondly, as he followed his dad back in to the house.

 

Once within the crowded and hot living room of his childhood home, with the chips in a large bowl on the coffee table, Dean did his best to thwart Harry, Millie and his mom's intervention in his happily single life. He bounced Robby on his knee as he watched Eileen talking to Sam and tried to join their conversation; the reason he had driven across the city on a Friday night in the first place. Sadly, due to Eileen being deaf and not needing her ears to understand what was being said to her, Harry and Millie rudely decided to wax lyrical about the girl from Millie's office that they were setting him up with while he tried to show proper concern to Eileen about the anniversary of her mother's death. She had never lived with her mother, but had had contact up until she had passed away. The situation brought more guilt and sadness to Eileen than grief, but nonetheless she needed their support.

 

“Seriously, Dean, she's soooo pretty. I really hate her for her hair. Long, straight, perfect shade of blonde. Erm, she has brown eyes, kinda tanned.” Millie rambled, a besotted expression on her face as she delicately popped chip after chip in to her lip glossed mouth. Dean wondered if maybe Millie should date this girl instead.

 

_Any news about your brother yet?_ He signed to Eileen, arms awkward around the squirming bundle of tiny human in his arms. She  de flated as she shook her head. It had been three years since her mother had died,  with that event, news had come of a long lost older brother.  The solicitor dealing with Mrs. Leahy's death had notified Eileen of an older sibling who had stayed with their father. According to the solicitor, her father, completely absent from her life, had died many years before, and his son, older than Eileen by five years had  disappeared even before that. It was a mystery that had Eileen needing her  _real_ family around her;  the Winchesters.

 

“Great rack.” Harry put in, adding to Millie's description of the girl he had to take on a date, nodding sagely, as if he had just imparted the knowledge of the ages.

 

Dean shook his head in confusion. Once he sorted through the two different conversations in his head he rolled his eyes. He really wasn't interested in this girl or her rack. He was happy with where his life was at. He didn't want a girlfriend, he didn't want to date, and he certainly didn't want to have to put up with some air head from Millie's office.

 

Mildred Winchester, twenty-five, worked in an office in the city centre for a local lifestyle and fashion magazine. Henry Winchester, twenty-three, was a bank clerk. They shared a flat with another two girls, one of which was Harry's girlfriend, and spent all their time in each other's pockets. They were a nightmare. Dean loved them dearly, but at thirty-two… He was done with all the excitable squealing that they did over, well, pretty much anything. If Harry hadn't been in a long term relationship with his girl from business school, Dean could have sworn the boy was the most stereotypical kind of gay guy with the amount of interest he seemed to have in Millie's shoe and bag collection. Millie seemed to have made it her mission to find Dean a girlfriend, and more's the pity, their mother agreed, seeming to have decided that seven months single was seven months too long. Never mind the fact that his last girlfriend had left his head a jumbled mess in almost every way possible. He was so grateful that his life was the way it was just now, he had his own place, a handful of good friends, a job he loved and a family that, mostly, he enjoyed spending time with. Why they thought he required a girlfriend was beyond him. They all seemed to have forgotten the awful time he had had with Amara, and just how unhealthy that relationship had been.

 

But, Millie, Mary and Harry had decided. So, that was that. Next Wednesday he had a date with a certain Tricia Martin, of the blonde hair, brown eyes and large- yeah.

 

Dean sighed again, heavily in the humid air, before banishing it all from his mind and launching a plan of (tickle) attack on his squidgy nephew. At least Robby, Eileen, Sam and John were happy letting him just _be_ for the moment.

 

-

 

Castiel leant his elbows against the Formica counter top as the couple walked through the red painted double doors of the tiny box office, glass covered completely by amateur made posters, and in to the cool, dim cinema beyond. That was the third couple of the evening, all of whom were regulars, he didn't expect anyone else, but he had five minutes to kill before he could flick the switch and start the movie for the evening. He groped in his back pocket for papers and tobacco. The small stubby cinema tickets, before printing, made great roach. With deft fingers he rolled himself a cigarette, and fishing his zippo from his other pocket he sauntered outside to take a smoke.

 

It was hot.

 

Really. Fucking. Hot.

 

Castiel hated the summer when it was like this. It wasn't the heat he minded so much, but the humidity. He found it hard to breathe, as if he were partly underwater, and his clothes stuck to him. He coughed, took his first drag, and felt his throat relax as the hot, dry smoke went down. His lips hitched in to the tiniest of smiles.

 

His smile widened a little as he took in the view, a curl of blue-grey smoke spiralling lazily across the vista before him, the whole town spread out below, lights twinkling in the dusky evening.

 

Castiel raised a pierced eyebrow and blew out another plume of smoke as he watched two people walk slowly around the corner on the brow of the hill and toward him, the setting sun behind them stealing all colour from their forms. As they neared, making their way across the near deserted car park, he heard snatches of their conversation, mostly the woman's sour voice directed at the grimacing man. “I don't see why we couldn't have got a taxi-”, and “why are we going to this dump? The multiplex in town is showing the new Gracie Guild film.”

 

Castiel snorted quietly, smoke spilling from his nostrils. There were plenty of reasons to come to The Hole In The Wall Theatre, the single screen, independent, quirky, tiny cinema on the hill, and none of them had ever had anything to do with Gracie Guild.

 

He dropped the butt of his rollie and slipped back in inside behind the box office counter, wiping a thin sheen of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. It was only the start of June. He rolled his eyes in exasperation, wondering what July or August would be like. He rolled his shoulders and braced himself for the incoming pair.

 

This was the part of the job he hated. But, it was also the reason he had this job. His boss, his _real_ boss, from his _real_ job had suggested that he take the role. She had, for some obscure reason, taken it upon herself to ensure that he did not remain the hermit that she had accused him of being, and decided that he needed, for his own good, to get out of his house on a regular basis.

 

“Good evening.” He stated as they entered the stuffy room, in an abrupt, deep, monotone, wincing at his own ineptitude. 

 

T he man, perhaps a little younger than himself, looked at him with widened questioning eyes and a raised eyebrow,  Castiel squinted  as he willed the man to just accept the way he was  and move on . “ Er. Two? Please?” He asked, voice a little lower, a little gruffer than Castiel had expected. He  tried to analyse the man as he silently  placed the bills  in the till and wait ed for the  ancient printer to spew  out  their tickets,  in an attempt to improve his people skills . The man was a little taller than himself.  Light brown h air flattened to one side.  He wore a dark red button up shirt and  dark blue jeans . He shrugged minutely to himself.  The man looked like a normal guy on a date as far as he could tell. The girl was blonde, and was showing far too much cleavage  for Castiel's  taste . He r skin was almost orange and her lips  too glossy  and sticky looking . He pulled a face.  He didn't know why he still continued to try and observe people. He never got anywhere.

 

“Here.” He gritted out, waving the tickets in their general direction, holding his breath, just hoping the annoyed girl and the uncomfortable guy would go in quickly and leave him alone again so that he could start the movie, shut the doors and perch up by the projector and watch The Exorcist along with everyone else in the air conditioned dark. 

 

Castiel zoned out for a moment watching the couple walk through to the cinema itself. The man looked  very  awkward in the girl's presence, hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched,  body turned away. The girl, was self assured, looking about her. Castiel thought that if she were in a bar she would be trying to catch the eye of anyone looking. They were an odd couple. Castiel shrugged, it was none of his business. 

 

Less than five minutes later Castiel had the outer doors locked to anyone trying to come in, had started the movie, and was curled up in a seat at the back of the room, watching the opening scenes of his choice of movie for the night,  prickling sweat drying on his forehead  in the cool breeze of the air con' .

 

In terms of whos movie choice it was, every night, Monday through Wednesday were his choice. Monday was classic action films, Tuesday: animé and animated features, and Wednesday the horror and thriller classics that were his favourite. Thursdays, Chuck made him put on Art House nonsense and Friday and Saturday when Castiel didn't work, Chuck insisted that the more recent and popular movies were played to try and at least make some money out of the joint. Apart from anything with Gracie Guild in it. They had a joint, agreed veto on all of her films. It seemed to work well.

 

He relaxed. The darkness giving him a semblance of solitude. He didn't need to talk to anyone any more; he could relax. He let out a breath. He found it infuriating how difficult he found communicating with others, but infuriating or not, nothing seemed to change the fact. He knew why he was this way, had known since he was about twelve, and now, at thirty-five he was comfortable with himself. Aside from the occasional gut twistingly uncomfortable experience with members of the public in the cinema, he mostly avoided all situations where he would need to meet or talk to people. He liked his solitude, enjoyed silence and didn't feel like he was missing out on anything. His life was fulfilling and good. He was happy.

 

With a quiet sigh, he let his eyes fall from he screen to look at the three couples who turned up every week. At the front, as always were the chubby couple who wore matching t-shirts. They were very friendly, but after the first time trying to engage him in conversation at the desk, they had given up. They weren't cruel about it, they just seemed as if they accepted his abruptness for what it was and were happy to roll with friendliness on his terms. The second couple were two girls, he thought they were just friends. They might have been at the local campus. One occasionally had an old film camera around her neck. They rarely spoke to him, but always smiled a hello. The third couple were older, in their forties, they held hands and smiled quietly at him on their way in, and were always talking a dozen a minute when they came out, analysing the film down to it's bare bones.

 

Then his eyes fell on the new couple. He may not be any good with people, he may have difficulties getting on with them and working out what they were thinking and feeling, but he could tell that those two were not enjoying their time together.

 

As first timers to the cinema, or at least he assumed they were, he wondered if they were an established couple, or just on a date. He watched as the man leaned in close to the girl, his hand gently moving her hair out of the way. He squinted at them, maybe they enjoyed each other's company more than he had thought. She leaned in, a small smile growing on her face in the flickering light of the screen.

 

Castiel frowned, taken aback as the man whispered something to her rather than lean in for the kiss she, and Castiel had expected. She looked affronted and sat back in to her chair with a huff, arms folded across her chest. He couldn't see her face any more from his vantage point, but she looked pissed off, shoulders tense, body turned away from the man.

 

Throughout the rest of the film Castiel watched as the man kept leaning in a whispering things to her, occasionally pointing to the screen, but touching her as little as possible. Eventually she hissed at him to just “Shut the hell up” causing two of the other couples in the room to look around.

 

The man did stay quiet after that, he leant back in his chair, his body now angled away from the girl, but Castiel could still see a sliver of his face. He was grinning.

 

Castiel's frown deepened.

 

He realised that the man had intentionally pissed the girl off.

 

Castiel decided he did not like this asshole.

 

When the credits rolled, Castiel slipped back out of the room and flicked off the projector. He slunk in to the foyer and opened up the main doors to let everyone out in to the stifling evening air before the first couple had even left the theatre.

 

He nodded at his six regulars, each of them smiling in return. Then came the turn of the new couple, or not-couple as he was fast thinking of them. She was hissing recriminations to him the whole way out while he looked serene and happy. “How dare you whisper all the way through? You bring me to this shit hole, at least you could have had the decency to let me watch the shitty movie in peace! I did not want to know what was going to happen before it happened. What kind of asshole are you? Jesus. Your sister could not have been more wrong about you. You're clearly stupid, I mean! You fix cars! You smell of exhaust and you have- Girly lips…. You can just- Ugh!” Her voice had been steadily growing in volume until she made the nose of disgust and flounced out muttering about finding a taxi.

 

The man looked toward Castiel's frowning face as he passed, smiling smugly.

 

Castiel scowled. She may not have been the most pleasant of people, but him? What. A. Dick.

 

-

 

Dean was not looking forward to his date in a matter of hours time. Since the previous Friday, Millie and his mom had spent much of their time trying to persuade him that this Tricia was a wonderful person and that he would immediately fall for her. He wasn't convinced. And therefore had sent the past hour pacing his own small living room trying to decide how to ensure this would be the last date they forced upon him.

 

Dean leaned back in his favourite arm chair, arms folded behind his head, a small grin forming on his face. A tiny twinge of guilt curled in his stomach as he thought of his now solid plan to purposefully discourage his date for the evening. Anguish at the though of enduring the blind date won out over guilt in the end. He simply could not sit by and play nice with someone he had not picked for himself, someone he didn't know he already liked, someone he couldn't tell what they were _really_ like.

 

Harry had called him the evening before telling him that Tricia was expecting him to pick her up at seven from her place, he gave him her address, and informed him that their Dad had already agreed to allow him to borrow the Impala for the evening.

 

Dean had smiled at that thought, and it was tempting, his Dad rarely let anyone drive his car, but his plan would force him to give the opportunity a miss this time. Knowing that this girl worked with Millie, he could guess how she would dress. It was cruel of him to make assumptions, but he had met her friends before. There was a _look._ The look seemed to require a minimum of three inch stiletto heels. A nice romantic walk in the early evening heat up a hill would be ideal.

 

He grinned at the next part of his plan. Again, banking on Millie's stereotypical friend, he had found an ideal spot to take her while looking on the web during his pacing. The Hole In The Wall Theatre was on the outskirts of town, up a massive hill and played many off the cuff movies, including a Horror night on Wednesdays.

 

He loved the genre, and had probably seen every film they showed at least three times. He was more looking on this part of the evening as a test. Anyone who couldn't stand these films wouldn't play nice with him in the long run and was good to get that snippet of information out of the way at the get go. At that point, he was thinking about winging it depending what the girl was like. His initial plan of attack though was to get all enthused about the film and spoil the plot for her if she hadn't seen it already, and if she had, to geek out over all the special effects they used and ruin the movie for her that way.

 

If she hung around after that he planned on taking her for a very fattening, very greasy burger, or finding some grim street food that even he might baulk at were it not for such a worthy cause.

 

It was a good plan, slightly cruel, but solid. He qualified the idea in his head that, if the girl was actually fun to be around, he would rein it in and give the date a fair go.

 

-

 

“I've organised for you to go on another date, Dean.” Mary stated from across the scratched and coffee stained table in _Gabriel's_. 

 

He often picked Robby up from nursery on a Monday when Sam had to work late and Eileen couldn't get out of meetings. He usually grabbed the chubby, squealing blob of dribble and joy straight from work and flopped in to the coffee shop just down the road before heading home to await Sam or Eileen coming to collect their kid. The small one got bits of a cookie and a plastic, spouted mug of cold milk while Dean slurped happily at an exquisitely made, and well deserved black coffee, or on days as hellishly hot as this, a bottle of cold brew.

 

_This_ Monday, on the other hand, his mother had decided to join him in collecting the beach-ball lookalike he currently had sitting on his knee, blowing spit bubbles  and burbling to himself . 

 

He had only been out of work for a whole twenty-three minutes, spending the entire work  day split between bantering with Bobby; his pseudo uncle and his Dad, h a ving his head shoved inside an engine, and  working on  their website forum and emails. And, now he had a much beloved, paint spattered, crumby, giggling mess of a toddler kickin g his heels in to his knees.  He was tired, dirty and in babysitting mode. The last thing he wanted to do was to argue with his mother about a date he desperately didn't want to go on. Tricia, the previous Wednesday, had been very far from his type, not to mention rude and shallow. The things she had said about him were fair given how he had behaved that night, but he had had to endure the entire walk to the cinema listening to her babble on about lipstick shades,  the  _new_ purple, and how she wasn't sure she would want to date a man who didn't wax his back. Dean, sparse back hair included, would much rather hang out with Robby alone then try and prevent a repeat of  such an awful date, but he would much rather argue than actually have to go on one.

 

“Mom. Really. I couldn't want to go on a date less. That Tricia person was awful. I'm happy for God's s-” He cut himself off, not wanting a reprimand for swearing on top of everything else.

 

She sniffed, the humid and warm coffee laden air inside the café somehow less oppressive than the air outside. “Well, tough. It's already arranged. And, this time your taking the car! Millie said that Tricia was really upset that you made her walk!”

 

Dean let out a deep breath, his cheeks puffing out, which he disguised as blowing a raspberry on to Robby's head.

 

The thing about his  M om- Well. She was a lovely woman, but she was also stubborn and very much set in her ways. She had actually been upset when  S am had announced that he and Eileen were getting married, for no other reason than that her eldest child was still single. It had seemed wrong to her that her second child would be the first to tie the knot. They had all looked on  in fear the moment “ w e're having a baby”  slipped  out of Sam and Eileen's mouths sixteen months  after their wedding . She had genuinely grimaced at Dean before turning to Sam and Eileen and congratulating them. 

 

“Hey! It was a nice day, I thought she would enjoy the walk.” He lied, breaking off another bit of cookie for his nephew. “Well, I suppose. At least you didn't make her ride on that obnoxious bike of yours.” Mary griped. They had had many arguments over Dean's choice of transportation in the past and it didn't look to stop any time soon. “I just want what's best for you Dean.” She sighed, giving him her puppy dog eyes. He steeled him self, refusing to let her get to him. “Mom, I like my life right now. I don't want a girlfriend or- I like my job and hanging out with my friends. I don't want anyone else in my life right now.”

 

Mary rolled her eyes. “Of course you do! No one wants to be alone!” With that she stood up, wiping imaginary crumbs or dust from her floral dress and fixed her eyes on Dean with a stern look. “Emily is expecting you at seven on Wednesday.”

 

Dean flopped back against the back of the chair in defeat, round child rolling back with him. “Looks like I'm taking Emily on a nice stroll up a nice big hill too, huh, Robby?” He whispered in to the mop of brown hair on the kid's head.

 

Robby's only answer was a soulful look, then grabby hands for the rest of the cookie.

 

-

 

Dean sat back in his favoured armchair again, letting the shabby and squishy cushions cocoon him in, the only light coming from the moon filtering through the open window. A wide grin stretched his face until the guilt hit again. He didn't like upsetting these girls, but they just didn't interest him at all, even if he was looking for someone, these women would not be any where near the top of his list. He didn't want a one night stand these days, and the girls that Harry, Millie and Mary were picking just weren't his type. It wasn't even about looks. If he were to pursue anyone it would be because they had similar interests to him, laughed at the same things. The girls he had had to take on dates so far where in to decidedly different things than him. He had walked both Tricia and Emily past his bike and neither of them had so much as glanced at it.

 

He got up, stretched and ambled in to his kitchen to grab beer, flicking on the lights as he went. Good beer was a little bit of a guilty pleasure for him, his entire family mocked him for refusing to settle for the generic brands, but he didn't care. If he was going to drink the stuff then he was damn well going to enjoy it. That went for the bottle of Japanese Whiskey he kept stashed, out of sight and knowledge of everyone, at the back of his cleaning cupboard under the sink too.

 

He twisted the cap off the bottle as he sank back in to his chair, letting his mind wander back to the evening. The film had been good. Nosferatu was the classic of classics and he felt pained at the way he had treated it, making up stupid lines to fill in the silences and turning it from a dark masterpiece in to a ridiculous old black and white film. He hoped the gods of cinema would forgive him in time. But, the ploy had worked. Emily had got up about twenty minutes before the end of the film and stormed out, telling him to shove his shit, boring films and his stupid chatter. She had said it loud enough for the whole cinema to hear, and Dean had cringed, not wanting to ruin the film for anyone else. Once she had gone he sank back in to his seat in an attempt to hide. He had, on the other hand, thoroughly enjoyed the closing moments of the film and had sauntered out smiling to himself at how clever the old movies really were.

 

He remembered catching the eye of the rude guy who manned the till on Wednesdays as he left the building. He had looked furious and disgusted, lip turned up in a sneer, eyes dark and brooding. Dean cringed at the memory. He felt bad about the scene that he had caused in the cinema. But, the gothy, pierced dude was unnecessarily rude nonetheless. Even as they had paid to go in he had been scowling, his deep voice monotone and abrupt. He had addressed Emily rather than himself and had said “go on then” indicating the doors in when they had hesitated seeing who would move for the door first, after receiving their tickets.

 

Dude was weird, although Dean found himself respecting the guy's protectiveness over the cinema night. If he weren't using it as a test for potential 2nd date material, he would contemplate going alone or asking Benny or Jo to meet him there. He was looking forward to the day his interfering family gave up trying to marry him off, and he could enjoy the good things again. The cinema would definitely be on the list.

 

-

 

Castiel was enduring the heat outside awaiting the two girls who occasionally turned up late for the Wednesday viewing. They always ran in giggling, apologising profusely. He made sure to smile at them letting them know it was okay. The other patrons never minded, especially when as he waited on them if they were running late too. He'd even answered the phone once, (a horrible experience,) to take a message from the plumper couple letting him know they weren't coming that evening.

 

In the swealtering heat Castiel had given in and rolled up the sleeves of his black long sleeve shirt, the cuffs wide at his elbows. He'd swapped his lip ring for a stud that morning and couldn't help tonguing the metal disc as he held smoke in his mouth from his rollie. Instead of studying the view from his seat on the back rest of the bench overlooking the city below, he was tracing a finger tip over the tattoos on his arms. He rarely saw them in natural light, but usually either in the blue glow of his computer screen or the distractingly orange light in his bathroom when he showered. He didn't bother with daylight hours much. Another reason his boss had tasked him with getting the job at the cinema. They held long discussions over messenger on the internet and text messages. Charlie had given up on the concept of face to face communication after their first and only phone conversation, the interview he had for the job. She owned a games company; designing and building computer games for all platforms. Castiel was one of her top programmers. He had sent her his portfolio and agreed to a phone interview. After much prompting from Charlie, they had eventually managed a proper conversation, primarily because she got him on to the subject of programming, but she agreed to let him work from home ninty-nine percent of the time. She understood his social awkwardness, but had given him the caveat, after a few months of working together, messaging each other regularly, that he had to get out of the house; for the love of all thing Hermione, get the hell out of the house. She had suggested the Cinema, she knew he liked film and her friend Chuck had had an opening available.

 

His gaze zoned back in from the intricate lines on his full sleeves when he heard feet scuffing over the gravelly tarmac forecourt to the cinema behind him. He dropped his cigarette and looked up to the two girls waving at him, and then, behind them, the man from the week before with another girl in tow, looking just as unhappy as last week's date had.

 

He instantly felt his mood sour. Running his hand through his unkempt hair, then tugging on the black plugs in his ears he sighed out the last of the smoke from his lungs and went to sell both couples their tickets for Nosferatu.

 

The two girls smiled and nodded their thanks before they stepped in to the gloomy cinema beyond. Up stepped the man and his date. The woman was red in the face, her hair a little frizzy and stuck to her forehead with perspiration, the man, clearly a little warm from the walk up the hill too, nevertheless looked serene and chilled, or perhaps just bored. Castiel addressed the girl, even when the man asked for two tickets, handing her the printed stubs. He watched as the man hesitated, clearly torn between letting his date enter first, or just striding in. Castiel lost his patience.

 

“Go on then.” He nodded toward the doors. He had a movie to start after all.

 

Seventy-three minutes later Castiel found him self fuming with anger at the behaviour of the man, once again.

 

He had watched as the guy had leant in, just like with his date of the previous week, and whispered gently in to her ear. Castiel couldn't hear what he was saying, but the man kept sniggering and making weird gestures at the screen. Close to the end the girl had clearly had enough. “For fuck's sake! Why did you take me to see this piece of crap black and white, boring, shitty old film if you were just going to talk all the way through it huh?” She screamed, letting out a noise of disgust before she stomped out of the room. Castiel winced as he heard the heavy fire door slam shut behind her out in the foyer.

 

Castiel himself stormed out, far less obtrusively, and let himself out the main door like the girl before him. He fished out the rollie he had put behind his ear before the movie and lit up with an angry inhalation.

 

He was sucking down on his second cigarette in fifteen minutes when the people started milling out of the door. First the chubby couple, the man actually patting him hesitantly on the shoulder before smiling and walking in to the night, then the two girls, grinning at him and chatting about the techniques used in the filming, then the last of his regulars nodding at him silently for once before the awful man sauntered out alone. He flashed a grin at Castiel, all straight white teeth and crinkly eyes. Castiel just narrowed his gaze and scowled at the man, silently willing him never to return to his cinema ever again.

 

-

 

Dean flopped back on the sofa in his living room, the burbling beachball of a baby using him as a climbing frame, as he usually did after their Monday afternoon coffee stop. He had shot a text to Sam asking if they could pick the kid up a little earlier than usual. He was exhausted, his day at the garage had seemed never ending and he desperately wanted to take a shower.

 

Finally, with the toddler happily slurping water from his special batman mug, Dean heard a knock on the door. He just yelled that it was open expecting the proud father to stroll in on his abnormally long legs and take away his teeny tiny son.

 

His blonde, petite and dangerous mother appeared in the doorway instead. “Oh, for the love of-” He whispered under his breath. “Mom!” he said out loud, a smile plastered on his face. “Hello sweety.” She said, bending down to kiss his cheek and ruffle the sprouts hair. Robby looked up at her and frowned.

 

“I just thought I'd swing by and let you know that I think you should take out Agatha's daughter Wednesday after next. It's all set up. You'll be taking the Impala, and collecting her from her work. I'll text you the details. Agatha is so looking forward to it, especially after, well, you know. Oh and Harry's friend is expecting you to pick her up this Wednesday okay?”

 

Mary didn't take a breath. Announcing that he had to take out her friend's daughter because said friend was upset that her niece had turned out to be a lesbian, in a happy, committed relationship for four years no less.

 

It wasn't that Mary was a homophobe exactly, but homo-uncomfortable, homo-bitchy? Homo-ignorant and stupid? It was more that no one had challenged the fact she had adopted her parents out dated and old fashioned opinions on the matter with out thinking about it for her self. Dean was certain he wasn't up to the job of enlightening her, even now, at thirty-two years old. It was also the reason that he had never told a soul that he was bi.

 

He had come to the realisation late, but didn't find issue with it himself. But, he had yet to be with a man. His gayginity was intact. This wasn't due to any latent terror on his behalf, nor for want of keeping the fact from his parents, friends or family. It was simply that he wasn't interested in the one gay bar he knew of in the city. Far too much Elton John got played there for his tastes. And anywhere else he had gone, he had never seen a guy that he wanted to even try with. For some reason he seemed far more picky when it came to men than women. Not that he had exactly been cassonova in the past few years. Even prior to his disastrous relationship with Amara he had stopped prowling for one night stands, and now? Now he was genuinely happy with his lot. He knew a relationship could come along, probably when he least wanted it, but it would happen one day. Until then he was more than happy with his family, friends, cars and his collection of films, games and comic books.

 

“Mom- I really don't wa-”

 

“No! No! I will not hear it! It is arranged! Darling, you need to find someone, your thirty-two for heavens sake!” His mother exclaimed.

 

From his prone position on the sofa, wide eyed munchkin still lounging on his belly, he glared at his Mom. “Fine I'll go on your stupid date. But it won't make Dorothy any less gay you know?” _Shit._ Had he just said that out loud to his mother?

 

“Well.” She huffed. “Wednesday. Don't be late.” She stropped, turning and leaving the living room. “And don't forgot the God damned car!” She yelled before marching out the door. Dean winced in preparation for the slamming of the heavy wood behind her, but it never came. The quiet snick of it's closure was closely followed by the soft footfalls of his megatron of a brother.

 

“What was that all about?” Sam asked as he picked up his flailing, squeeing child. “Mom seems to think that because I'm single I am a failure, oh and, if I date some girl, her cousin might stop being gay, or something like that. I dunno. It's Mom… They've lined up two more dates dude.”

 

Sam snickered. “ Why do you let them?” He asked bouncing the gumm il y  smiling baby on his hip. “Have you tried to stop those three from doing anything lately?”  He asked with a grimace.

 

Sam pulled a face. “Yeah. Exactly.” Dean replied to Sam's silent agreement.

 

With his younger brother gone and his baby sitting duties over, Dean took a moment, still lying on his squishy old sofa, to contemplate his fate- his next two dates, he corrected himself. He would just have to suffer the ire of the grumpy, rude, nicely tattooed man at the cinema in order to screen these family chosen dates until they gave up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to make confusion happen! I had to do some edits, and I decided to cut my chapter length down. 13000 words per chapter seemed a bit too much. So, this is the second half of what used to just be chapter one.
> 
> I'm hoping to publish Chapter 3 this week!

This week it appeared to be Harry's choice of girl. Henrietta was actually attractive to Dean physically. Harry had at least had the decency to show him a picture before telling him to pick her up on Wednesday night. He had spent a moment wondering why they always insisted on Wednesdays, but it seemed irrelevant. Henrietta was a little plump, curvy, with pale red hair, pale skin, translucent blue eyes and generous lips. Harry had a glint in his eye the whole time he was talking to Dean about her. She apparently liked both Star War and Star Trek, she dabbled in the burlesque scene and was studying a PHD in history. Attractive, geeky and intelligent. Dean thought perhaps that he could give this one a genuine go.

 

Nonetheless he couldn't help but take her on his now preferred 'test date' as he had started to term them in his head. As a screening programme it had worked well so far.

 

He picked her up on foot and told her he would take her to the movies and they'd grab a bite to eat afterwards. He walked her silently past his motorbike, which he lovingly referred to as Beauty most of the time, and she at least glanced at, even if she made no other indication she had noted her. It was a half point in her favour. She didn't complain about the hot and humid walk up the hill to the theatre, and seemed much fitter and able than the other two girls. Despite their conversation mostly hovering on the heat and the wilting flowers in people's gardens, Dean was actually smiling genuinely when he led her up to the cinema. Taking a moment to dig his battered wallet out of the too-new jeans he let her know that they held classic horror nights on a Wednesday, and she seemed, at the very least, politely interested as opposed to down right unimpressed. He caught the eye of the dark haired man at the counter, who had a look of confused concentration on his face rather than one of outright disapproval, as he passed him their tickets. Dean half smiled at the pierced man's silence, once again spotting his tattooed wrists peeking out from under the loose cuffs of the guys shirt.

 

Dean realised as they sat down that he had to re-evaluate the terms of 'classic horror and thriller' night that the theatre advertised on their website. Not all of it was Hammer or in black and white, here they were, watching American Psycho.

 

From the moment the film started rolling, Henrietta started sniping. She scoffed at the title screen, saying she had seen it before, and within fifteen minutes she had started making mildly homophobic slurs. By thirty minutes in, Dean got up and walked out, in dignified, if outraged and disgusted silence.

 

He offered the narrowed blue eyes aimed in his direction from the very back of the theatre an apologetic half smile as he slid from the room.

 

-

 

Castiel realised, once again, with the hushed rustle of the morning letters dropping through his mail box, that it was probably time to wrap up his work for the evening and try to get some sleep. He never really intended to become nocturnal, but once he got in to the trance that coding caused, soothing away the entire world apart from the screen in front of him, time simply disappeared.

 

He got up, stretched and limped over to his front door, legs and back stiff from the hours spent in his office. As he bent to retrieve the letters on the mat he heard the pinging notification on his computer of a new message. Choosing to ignore both distractions for the moment, he went to the kitchen and clicked the kettle on to boil, foregoing coffee in favour of chamomile tea before he tried sleeping.

 

With the mug steaming in his hand he flopped back in to the seat in front of his computer and opened the message on the screen. Charlie, his boss, naturally. He had no one else to contact him after all.

 

**Hey Novak! What's up underling? Just thought I'd check in with you this fine morning! Have you managed to iron out those kinks on the battle scene yet? We really can't have half the orcs twirling in circles repeatedly, I think the goblins would win a little too easily…**

 

He sighed. Charlie was only checking in on his progress.

 

_Hello Charlie. Yes. The battle scene is nearly finished I believe. I need to render it, then we can put it through testing again. I should have it finished this evening and I will let it render over night and upload a copy to the server tomorrow morning._

 

While he waited for her reply, he slid his thumb under the fold of he first envelope. Phone bill. The next; Electricity, then; a letter from the library informing him of an event they were running for pre-schoolers. He had the final envelope in his hand as Charlie's message came through.

 

**Wonderful! You're the best Castiel!**

 

Castiel sipped his tea, letting the unopened letter rest on the ergonomic keyboard while he waited for more from Charlie, she rarely got in touch with him for something so trivial. She knew he would contact her when his particular assignment was done.

 

**I just wanted to make sure you were ok? I mean, chuck says you show up to the cinema every mon-thu. But, I'm worried about you. You're never up this early unless you've been up all night… I just… I dont know! Are you ok? Can I do anything? You'd hate it if I called right? Last week you seemed so down… Talk to meeeeee Castiel!**

 

He sighed. Charlie meant well, but he was fine. Really. Last week had just been a frustrating one, both with coding and at the cinema. He wasn't depressed or any of the other things he was accused of by the more socially able. He just wasn't any good at talking to people. Once his mother had passed away, when he was still mostly too young to remember, his asshole of a father had just put him in front of the television, in a room full of toys and books. He had no one else to play with, he learned his vocabulary from watching cooking shows and nature documentaries and the history channel. When he went to school, a couple of years later than he ought to have done, he found it extremely difficult to adapt, to talk to people, to deal with casual touches. His father had not completely neglected him, he had fed him and hugged him briefly if he hurt himself, he had put him to bed and walked him to school. But, they had rarely talked, he had never helped with homework, had never imparted advise nor laughed or played. Pretty much all contact between his father and him stopped when he stopped crying if something was wrong. He bandaged his own knees and sat in silence through meal times.

 

So, to Castiel, these things were mostly a mystery. Although he knew the concept, television had taught him more than enough, it was putting these things to to practise that left him in a cold sweat, gruffly biting out his words to get the process finished as quickly as possible.

 

But, he wasn't nearly so isolated as Charlie seemed to think. Her idea to work at the cinema was a good one, it forced him to leave the house on a regular basis and gave him routine, and he met and exchanged words with his regulars. He also frequented a few local establishments; a biker bar and a goth club in the city where people didn't raise an eyebrow to his appearance, nor take offence to his near silence. He let himself be picked up at irregular intervals by women and men alike, and those liaisons required no verbal interaction whatsoever. They never cared what he did for a living or what his favourite colour was nor where he came from. After a few beers he was usually relaxed enough to pass for enigmatic, rather than sullen. He also played games online when he had a gap in between jobs for Charlie, and although he played alone, he had friendly rivals and allies with whom he messaged during the game.

 

_There's nothing to worry about Charlie. I'm perfectly fine thank you._

 

Before sending the message he slit open the last envelope while wondering what else he could say to Charlie to convince her that he was perfectly happy and sane and as well adjusted as he had ever been. As his eyes landed on the first sentence of the last letter, watermaked and letter headed, his mouth fell open.

 

He stabbed enter on his keyboard and closed the messenger programme before he read the rest of the letter, all else forgotten.

 

_Dear Mr. Leahy,_

 

_Please accept our sincerest apologies. We regret to inform you that your mother sadly passed away in her sleep from complications during a severe bout of pneumonia on the 7 th July, three years ago._

 

_It has taken the solicitors of her estate this time to make you aware of this situation due to your fathers decision to cut ties with your mother entirely, and your own name change at a much later date._

 

The letter continued. But Castiel couldn't- Mr. James Leahy- that was a name he had not gone by since fourteen days after his sixteenth birthday, when he had walked out of his fathers home and set up camp in a derelict warehouse, three cities over. Where he had enrolled himself in school. Where he had passed every test and done his homework and hidden from his bullies and failed to make any friends. Where he had found music he enjoyed, pierced his own ears, designed his first tattoo, stolen his first DMs and drunk his first beers. He had somehow managed to avoid attention for eighteen months, ensuring he made full use of the school showers, eating in the cafeteria and working long hours in the local bar collecting glasses and washing dishes out of sight. The six months leading up to his eighteenth birthday had been harder. His building had been condemned, but he had made do, crashing at Powell's bar in the stock room or simply sleeping rough and spending as many of his waking hours in the school as possible.

 

On his eighteenth birthday, he had asked Frank, the owner of Powell's if he could move in to the spare room outback in exchange for work. The greying man had squinted, sworn, then taken pity. Three months later he graduated and applied to colleges, hoping to be accepted by Clearing. He was offered a hardship loan at one, his course; Computer Sciences with a minor in graphic design. He packed his singular bag, hitch hiked across the country and started his new life in single dorm room with a part time job packing meat pies at the weekend. All of it under the name Castiel Novak.

 

Castiel had been four when his mother had died.

 

Or. Castiel had been four when his father had told him his mother had died.

 

She had simply disappeared one day and his life had changed from one of warm touches and soft smells to one of empty rooms and cold, distant glances.

 

-

 

Dean turned the key in the ignition, turning off the guttural rumbling of the bike's engine. The Triumph Bonneville was his pride, his joy and his Beauty. Seventeen minutes later Martha simply sneered at the bike, parked innocuously on the road side as they started their trek towards the little cinema on the hill. He endured nineteen minutes of whining about the heat, the sun, the dust, the black clouds on the horizon, the bees, the wilted flowers, the gay cousin, the colour of Dean's shirt, her Mom, the government, pinot grigio and shitty two bit cinemas.

 

By this point they were standing outside said shitty two bit cinema with the resident, smoking goth watching with a raised eyebrow, red rimmed eyes and sneer to his smoke hazed lips.

 

The guy was wearing a black t-shirt and cut off black jeans, slung low on his hips, heavy black boots grinding the but of his cigarette in to the ground. An audible noise of disgust from his date pulled him from his observation of the man. With his scrutiny over, the guy pushed away from the wall and, with long strides, stomped in to the box office. He saw tiny trails of tattoos adorning the man's muscled calves. Dean motioned for Martha to go in first, even holding the door for her. Inside, she stood looking extremely unimpressed as Dean requested his usual two tickets. “Sure.” Was the guys reply, gruff, abrupt as ever but with the tiniest lift to the corner of his mouth. Dean's twitched up in return even as he noticed something more in the man's expression, beyond the now missing irritation at Dean's existence. The guy looked beaten down, strained, even with the slightly amused expression lighting his features.

 

“Oh my God!” The girl burst out, flinging her arms in the air. “Your- Ugh- Just- why don't you go in together!” and with that she flounced from the box office straight in to the oppressive heat outside The Hole In The Wall, a trail of dust swirling behind her to settle on the sticky black tarmac.

 

Dean pursed his lips and frowned after the woman's dramatic exit, then eyed the man behind the counter, wondering what the girl had imagined in his two second transaction with him whilst buying the tickets. “You seem to have a talent doing that.” The man said, an odd look of surprise at his own words flitting across his face, contending with the sadness and stess there.

 

It was the first time the man had seemed truly human to Dean and he took a little pity on the man. “Yeah,” he huffed. “But it's no loss, she and I clearly weren't gonna work.” He shrugged, “thanks man.” he finished, holding aloft the tickets to point his meaning. He slipped through the heavy double doors in to the cinema ready to watch The shining. As he slunk through the cool, air conditioned darkness a loud, ear splitting crack sounded all around him, followed closely by an ominous rumble of thunder rolling above the building and vibrating the air and making his hackles rise.

 

-

 

Castiel frowned in the man's direction as he strolled in to the cinema wondering what had possessed him to speak out loud in such a way. With a shrug he dismissed his own ineffability and went to lean against the wall outside with a cigarette to await the last pair of regulars. With a sizzling hum a white flicker of lightning cracked open the sky. That, and the accompanying roar of thunder pulled his attention up from his lighter toward the sky. Ugly yellow-green clouds sat low and heavy over the city beyond him, pregnant with withheld rain.

 

The heat and the humidity were getting to Castiel, his black t-shirt was clinging to him, the air felt thick and heavy. Five minutes ticked by, Castiel just gazing blindly over the parched landscape. A murmur of a low voice behind him lulling him slightly in to a daze while he tried to absorb the still raw fact that his mother had died three, rather than thirty years ago. He had spent the entire day trying to comprehend this fact, with no success.

 

With a jerk, the words “for fuck's sake Millie!” leapt through his consciousness. With surprise, Castiel dropped the stub of his fag to the ground. He eyed it with annoyance before crushing the still smoking, cherry red ember under his heavy boot. He turned back in to the box office where the 'date-guy,' as he had started to think of him, was yelling down the phone to yet another girl. He frowned reassessing his earlier reassessment of the man. He couldn't work him out at all, but earlier, having heard his most recent date's words, he could understand the man's disinterest in her. But now..?

 

“Come on! She was an asshole!” The man half whined, half yelled in to the receiver. Castiel's frown deepened. Maybe not just another girl then, if he was discussing his most recent failed date with this Millie. “No! I will not apologise. She was an ass. She stormed out 'cos I was polite to the guy in the cinema for Christs- No! Mill- Wait- No- Don't you dare-” The man was standing in the foyer, broad shoulders taut, facing away from Castiel. He could see the instant that resignation over took him, as he slumped against the wall, face covered by his hand. He whispered 'fuck' under his breath before; “Hey Mom.” He said in the most resigned voice Castiel had ever heard. “No. Please. Oh come on. Not anoth-”

 

Castiel cocked his head in surprise that he was now talking to his mother. About his date. Being bad with people, this was most definitely beyond his comprehension. He heard a stream of almost inaudible wittering on the other end of the line start up, wincing in sympathy, when all of a sudden another loud crack of lightning made it's self known and every single light in the building went out.

 

“Shit.” The man cursed in the sudden darkness. “No- I'm sorry! No- I have to go okay?” With that the man stabbed the end call button on his phone and sighed in relief, the blue glow of the screen lighting his face eerily. Castiel looked about him in the gloom. With the bulbous, sick looking clouds outside and the nearing sunset, there was only just enough light to see by. He opened up the doors to the cinema, and noted that the two couples who had all ready been inside were getting up to leave, excited smiles on their faces for the power cut. “Raincheck? Literally?” One of them joked. Castiel forced out a smile and a nod as he gritted out “Free entry next week” to them as they passed. Another growl of thunder announced itself as he let them all from the foyer and in to the parking lot, the smell of hot tarmac strong in the air. There would be no showing tonight, the view over the city showed only lights on in the hospital, everywhere else had been thrust in to sudden, shocking blackness.

 

Castiel ducked back behind his counter quickly and switched every power point he could find off at the wall, knowing that once the power was reconnected, the computers and lights would all be going haywire. He took a moment to wonder if lightning had hit the substation or something similar, before he grabbed his bag and keys and flitted through the building for a final check to make sure he wasn't going to lock anyone inside.

 

Outside again, Castiel felt as if he was walking into a solid wall made up of heat, electricity and humidity. Rumbling thunder and the odd lightning strike over the town were starting to make the air thrum. The clouds had an unhealthy glow to them, almost red when the lightening blasted through, hitting the tops of buildings and telegraph poles.

 

Castiel became enthralled by the sky. Lightning flickered and zig-zagged red through the heavy green-orange cloud. The air was heavy, damp and electric. The city, lit only by each strike and the glitter of headlights moving, was humming in anticipation in the darkness. He walked toward the bench that overlooked the city, too entranced by the rare sight to notice much else. The hair on his arms was standing on end.

 

“Want to take in the show?” A deep yet quiet voice asked from right next to Castiel making him flinch in surprise. He hadn't noticed the silhouetted figure against the light show before him. “Er-” He started, realising who it was. Date-guy had clearly not left as the other patrons had, leaping in to their cars to race home against the on coming storm, but had stayed to watch the awe inspiring sight from the vantage point on the hill.

 

Surprise forced words from him. “Why? Will you try and irritate me in to leaving too?” A particularly close bolt of lightening split the sky, they both jumped, squinting at the sudden onslaught of light, before being plunged back in to the blackness. With the sun well and truly set behind the heavy storm, Castiel had no hope of making out date-guy's features, his reaction to his sniping question. His usual sense of wrong-footedness at talking with people rose in his stomach, but before he could start to try and parse out something appropriate to say to correct his mistake, a dark laugh sounded. With a rustle of movement the man climbed over the bench to sit on the back rest, his feet placed on the seat, all lit by the flicking, tense light of the electrical storm above them. “Nah, man. You're good. I know all that was a huge dick move, but my family keep sending me on these awful blind dates. I'd just like to- Well, I'm sure you ain't interested.” The man said, eyes glued to the city before him. Castiel didn't turn to look at him as he spoke, nor as he contemplated the fact that this was the longest conversation he had had in person with someone in quite some time. He twisted his lip in disgust at himself, and more than a little anxiety. He contemplated what the man said as he climbed next to him on the bench back. A set of blind dates that he didn't want to go on would certainly explain his strange behaviour over the past four weeks. Castiel wasn't sure whether the man deserved forgiveness for not only upsetting at least two out of the four dates, but for partially ruining three showings in his cinema, but he certainly deserved another chance. His thoughts earlier, when he heard date-guy's most recent date abusing the cinema, were justified after all. This man ought to be seeing someone better than her at the very least.

 

Another hollow roll of thunder bellowed above their heads distracted him from his thoughts. They both rolled their necks up to look at the threatening cloud directly above them, catching each others eye on the way. Castiel had never seen this man look this way before. He had to be in his late twenties at the very least, and yet, in the harsh flickers of white light, his eyes gleamed with boyish excitement. Castiel felt himself smile in return involuntarily.

 

With another flicker of lightning in the laden air and an instantaneous bellow of thunder, an almighty crack sounded across the city. They both snapped their heads back toward the view, looking for the source of the noise. They found it in seconds, evidenced by the sparks still floating in the air. “Industrial quarter?” Castiel asked, his inability to talk to strangers mostly forgotten in the tiny inkling of fear in his gut.

 

“Yes...” Is was clear with the way the man answered, his thoughts had gone in the same direction. “There are loads of buildings over there though, it could have been any of them.” He said, as the first flames crept under the roof of the building far across the city, sending flickers of fire to reach toward the heavy cloud.

 

They sat, shoulders grazing as they adjusted their stance for comfort, and watched as the sparks grew. “Maybe it wasn't the-” The other man began but was cut off by an almighty explosion, a deep booming blast reverberating across the entire city. The sound rolled up to them moments after, even from their distance, they saw the thin, tin roof of the factory flung in to the air, torn pieces spinning and catching the light; red of flame and white of lightening, borne aloft on the billowing mass of a mushroom cloud of grey smoke, stark against the sallow clouds above.

 

“-firework factory.” The man finished in a dead monotone, clearly having just been proven wrong, as the first screaming rocket span wildly in to the feral cloud, exploding in a disturbing flash of blue and red inside the roiling mass of lightning filled water vapour and electricity.

 

The man sitting next to Castiel could simply get out a “woah...” before it seemed that all hell broke loose.

 

-

 

Dean shivered as the deafening explosion thundered across the city, blinding in it's intensity, it looked like the mouth of hades. Writhing spirals of red and gold leapt from the inferno of flames. Blue and green sparks exploding with pops and bangs, speeding from the epicentre at crazy angles and lazy swirls. Each burst of coloured fire and sparks consumed by the heavy, low cloud, lighting it up with fearful shadows and unearthly colours.

 

The flames were towering over the industrial quarter of the city now. Dean watched as a burst of lightning split the sky and collided with a purple and white firework, sending the bolt back along it's flightpath to the burning factory in a shower of white glowing sparks. It was beautiful and terrifying. He could barely hear the man next to him speak over the roll of thunder, the crack of lightening, the blare of sirens and the bangs and crackles of fireworks but he just made out the words “your date should have stayed. This is...” then words seemed to fail him. Dean pried his eyes away from the blazing site to glance at the man. In the far off glow of flame, punctuated by the harsh white light flashes from the storm and the colourful bursts of fireworks, his face was cut with angular lines and a beautific expression of awe and rapture.

 

Dean had to shake himself and look back to the disaster zone, the hair raising on the back of his neck. “Shit,” he heard the man mutter, as a further huge burst of lightning coincided with a fresh bombardment of fireworks leaving the ground at strange angles, some hitting other buildings in a great arc around the site, some tumbling along the ground, unseen from their distance other than the coloured spray of lights joining the blue pulses of light from the fire trucks.

 

Dean hardly blinked as he watched the astounding scene. Threatening cloud hung low and heavy, ignited from within by violent flashes from the storm and the panorama of drunken fireworks. They glowed red and raw in the flames from the fires. An orchestra of noise and light distracting him from the oppressive heat and humidity, and from the strange man next to him.

 

All it took was one fat raindrop to fall from the hidden sky above him to bring him back to his body. The water landed in a dollop directly on his bottom lip. Without thinking, he just licked it away, until another hit him on the hand. Then another, on his head, then another, then another, another until he and his new friend were sitting on a bench, on top of a hill, watching thunder and lightning do battle with a burning firework factory, under an onslaught of heavy, determined and persistent precipitation.

 

Neither of them made to move. The view was too great.

 

The ring of smaller fires the explosion had spawned were already beginning to rage, and although the downpour would help alleviate the flames, the fire teams were clearly struggling. Dean could see the flames on two buildings reaching high, fighting the downpour, touching the ragged line where cloud turned to rain.

 

“I'm Dean by the way.” He suddenly said, water dripping through his hair, and down his already soaked back. He looked at the other man, dark hair plastered to his head, eye liner Dean hadn’t noticed before, smudged ever so slightly under his eyes. The man hitched a half smile on his face, looking as if it was a rare occurrence, before sticking out his hand, as if unsure if he should. “Castiel.” He answered. Dean took his hand in his and smiled as he felt his callouses rub against the other man's smooth skin. It was only moments until the feeling of the rain catching in his eyelashes made him pull his hand away to rub his eyes clear. “This is ridiculous.” The man, Castiel, said hesitantly, quietly, but Dean couldn't tell if he meant the situation at hand; the storm, the rain and the burning factory, or something else. He seemed to have spoken only to himself.

 

They sat in silence, not completely comfortable, especially Castiel who fidgeted, shifting in his seat and pulling at his piercings, but both too enthralled by the occasion to notice. They sat there for a long time, watching the lightning fork down through the pall of cloud, striking anything in it's path. Watching the flames dance in the deluge, laughing at it's attempt to tame it. Watching the swathes of rain pelt down, letting the water soak through their every layer of clothing and drip from their noses on to the hot tarmac beneath their booted feet.

 

It was only when the night proper caught up with them, and the rain had finally helped to dampen the flames, the fireworks too wet to go off that Dean noticed Castiel shiver and shift in his seat. “I think it's time to call it a night.” Dean suggested. The man grumbled inaudibly, rubbing his wet hands over his goose pimpled, tattooed arms. Dean watched as he stiffly got up from the bench, t-shirt clinging to every plane of his chest, only seen in the fading glow of the flames across the city, and he jerked his head in the direction of the cinema. “There's towels.” He gritted out and Dean nodded, levering him self up from the bench and following with squelching foot steps. He'd never get his boots dry.

 

By the time Dean entered the foyer for the second time that evening, Castiel had already disappeared. A trail of small puddles and wet footprints lead to the area behind the counter of the box office. Dean finally realised just how cold he had got sitting in the rain. Looking at his phone, he found that that it was nearing midnight, four hours had passed in wonder struck amazement. He also discovered that he had two text messages from his mother, one from Millie, one from Harry and another from Sam. He sighed, leaving them all for later.

 

Castiel resurfaced, shirtless, rubbing his hair with a dish towel and throwing a proper hand towel to Dean. He caught it, along with the air in his throat. For all that the guy was grumpy, sometimes rude, socially awkward and wore eye liner and too much black, he could not deny that underneath the, frankly, fascinating, if geeky tattoos, and interesting piercings, the guy had a body to die for. He nearly choked when he saw his hip bones sharp above the belt of his shorts. His navel was pierced.

 

“What?” The man asked, as if unsure why Dean would be looking at him with his mouth open, eyes wide.

 

“Um, nice tattoos man.” Dean said in a strangled voice.

 

Castiel looked down at himself as if he had forgotten he had them, or that he had half stripped. “Oh Um. Thank you? They're, um- just me. I like them.” Dean snorted. Of course he liked them, they were permanently etched on to his skin. “Well, er. Thanks for this,” Dean started, indicating the towel in his hand and the water pouring from his wet hair and soaked clothes, leaving a puddle under his feet, “but I have a twenty minute walk to my bike. So, I'll just get soaked again.” With that he laid the towel on the counter top. “I better get going.” He smiled at the half naked Castiel who frowned in response. “I can drive you.” He stated, it wasn't a question and Dean wondered if the man was always so rude sounding, even when it wasn't intended rudeness. He was beginning to believe he had misjudged the guy at the beginning and his impression of him tonight was perhaps a little more accurate; socially awkward and maybe even shy, but not rude or unpleasant.

 

He wasn't sure it mattered though. After tonight, he was having stern words with his mother, Millie and Harry. He wouldn't be taking anyone else on a date, whether to a cinema he liked as a test or anywhere else. They could just deal with his happy spinsterhood. Maybe he'd get a cat. Either way, he didn’t think he'd be seeing that Castiel again.

 

“Nah, it's cool, man, don't worry. It's not like I can get much wetter.” He half smiled towards Castiel before he moved to leave. “Cycling in the rain is unpleasant.” The man said, again, clearly not getting the hint. Dean sighed and huffed a small laugh. “It's a motorbike dude. It's cool. Thanks for, er, tonight, it was surreal.” He smiled again at the man, shrugged and pushed out of the door in to the downpour.

 

-

 

Castiel frowned at the back of date-guy, Dean, as he disappeared between the sheets of rain pounding against the asphalt. He wondered why the man was so desperate to walk in the rain rather than accept a lift. He thought maybe he didn’t want to leave his motorbike over night in the rain. If so Castiel could at least drive him to his vehicle.

 

He looked at the wet heap that his t-shirt had become and spurned putting it back on. He grabbed the first thing that came to hand from the lost property box in the office, threw it on and grabbed one of the lost umbrellas that filled the box too. Thus prepared he locked up the cinema, bag and black t-shirt in hand and ran to his car covered with the umbrella, spray kicked up from the tarmac by the ferocity of the rain soaking his exposed calves even further

 

Dean was further down the road than he expected when he caught up with him, but he was having to drive slowly because of the thunderous rain, and strobe effect lightning flashes. He pulled up behind the broad shouldered man in the soaked, dark green henley, and kept pace with him until he noticed, knowing he wouldn't be able to shout across the car above the noise of the storm. He watched as the man jerked in surprise and stopped. He pulled up and allowed the man to bend down and peer through the now open window of the 1969, cherry red and black striped Camaro. “Nice wheels” Dean said, a lift to his eyebrow and a slight note of defeat in his expression. “Get in.” Castiel said, no room for argument. Dean eyed the leather upholstery before shrugging and slipping in the car, quickly winding up the window. “I'll take you to your bike.” Castiel growled, and he gently eased back on the accelerator.

 

-

 

It took a whole five minutes of silent driving before Dean cracked. “Shit man, I can't believe I'm sayin' this, but it isn't safe to ride in this shit. Take me home?”

 

The guy, laughably dressed in a bright yellow polo shirt, albeit, a dry one, simply looked across to him quickly before returning his attention to the road, correcting a minute aquaplane with a skill Dean could appreciate.

 

“Of course.” He said, and a tiny, genuine smile lit his face for the length of time it took the last bolt of lightning to touch the verdigris copper lightning rod affixed to the exterior of The Hole In The Wall Theatre behind them on the hill.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean sat morosely on the electric blue plastic bench in the hospital waiting room. He shifted, sighed, ran his hand through his greasy hair and checked his watch. _Again._ The display was still stuck at 01:18, the dull green glow from behind the numbers permanently on with droplets of water sitting under the glass. Yet again he pulled his miraculously intact phone from his pocket. It was now a little past four in the morning. 

 

Dean was practically alone. John was spread out on the bench across the room, breathing slowly and evenly. Everyone else had gone home, assured that nothing would change for the evening. Dean had refused, agonising arguments spinning through his head. He needed to stay and make sure Bobby was a l l right.  He knew,  academically , that it wasn't his fault. But he blamed himself nonetheless, and the guilt and shame, once again, sent a shiver of heat up his spine, and nausea pooled in his gut.

 

He had been staring in wonder from a bench outside a cinema with a tattooed stranger while Bobby's home and business was hit by one of those rogue fireworks. While Bobby's home and livelihood burned, Dean had gawped at the sky and been drenched by the rain. While Bobby was whisked through the lightning strikes in a screaming ambulance, Dean had been awed to speechlessness by the beauty of the explosions, by the fires springing up around the site. He had been spell bound, and simply watched Bobby's life burn.

 

He dropped his head in to his hands. Once he had awkwardly said good-bye to the guy in the yellow polo-shirt and the practically indecipherable tattoos, he had run to his front door, letting himself in and just stood in the hall way. He had wanted to flop on to his sofa, or go straight to bed, but he needed to get in to dry things. Ideally have a shower and warm himself through once again. The alert of a new text message on his phone had brought him from his indecision and exhaustion.

 

He read the text messages, and, as if in a dream, simply turned back around and walked in to the black and lightning lit night, slashing sheets of rain be damned. At the end of the road he took a moment to decide whether to retrieve his bike, or to simply make it to the hospital on foot.

 

As he turned and walked toward the only lit building in the city, eyes squinted against the downpour, wet clothes dragging, boots sloshing, he tried to remember that the message had said Bobby was okay. He was alive. He wasn't going to die-

 

And yet.

 

Dean walked the  forty-five minute distance in  thirty . He arrived in the atrium with a puddle of water beneath him, and his entire family  gathering around within moments . After a round of snipes and bickering about why Dean hadn't answered sooner, and why they had  only seen fit to send  him text mes s ages  rather than call , Dean was led up to Bobby's room. He was stable, but sedated. Burn salve smeared over his left arm and leg, gauze gently placed on top. He was grubby, soot smeared and wearing an oxygen mask. But he would be okay. There was no lasting damage except for maybe a few mild scars.  He had been watching the storm from his bedroom window when he saw the pin-wheeling firework barrelling toward him. He had run from the room, but the weeks of drought had proven too great an attraction for the flames, and his exit was already barred by fire. 

 

Dean breathed a sigh of relief, despite his internally designated blame, that only the  front of the house and half the workshop had been  damaged by the flames. He and John had already determined that in the morning they would go to work as usual, but instead of working on the cars, they would fix up the place as best they could. Secure the roof, shore up the workshop, clear out the detritus. They would call the insurance company  too,  ready for the old crank to make it home comfortably in a few days.

 

Dean peeled open his eyes, and realised that he must have drifted off at some point. Surrounding him were hushed voices and the smell of crappy hospital coffee.  Early morning sunlight filled the room . His neck ached where it lolled on his own shoulder, and he was stiff and  cramped from never having dried off properly, nor warmed up the previous night.  It didn't take long for the whispers to  coalesce in to real words and for Dean to be able to identify the voices. They were standing behind him, the seat where John had laid during the night, vacant.  Mary was there, talking quietly to someone unfamiliar to Dean. He could also hear the faint whispers of Sam and Harry. He  swivelled in his seat and almost immediately Harry thrust a paper cup of lukewarm coffee in to his hand, a smile of greeting on his face.

 

-

 

It was late afternoon when Bobby woke up and Dean was practically catatonic with exhaustion, lack of decent food, and proper caffeine by then. Bobby was his uncle in all but name, and he had been thoroughly adopted by the Winchesters even before his wife had died, many years before. There just wasn't another option but for the whole family to be there for him now, but Dean felt compelled. Bobby meant more to him than to the others. He had been there for him when he'd taken to hanging out with a bad crowd when John and Mary had their hands full with three younger children. Bobby had made him stop drinking, put a stop to the drugs and given him a job in order to keep out of trouble. Bobby was his uncle, his second father and his best friend.

 

Shortly after Dean had woken up that morning, with Harry and Sam watching him chug awful coffee, John had called him. He had given him the option of going in to work at Bobby's workshop, or to stay with him in the hospital. Dean had chosen the latter despite their late night conversation to the contrary, citing a desire to see the grumpy bastard wake up. After that, Dean, and the others, had finally been allowed in to see him, and Dean had stayed by his side throughout the day, trying to jolt the grizzled man awake with excerpts from old motoring magazines about modern cars. It was the comment about electric cars being the next great thing that finally dragged the old man to consciousness.

 

“Idjit.” He'd grunted and rolled his eyes. Dean had grinned.

 

But now, once again, they were sitting the waiting room, all uncomfortable blue chairs and the smell of antiseptic lingering in the air. The doctors had kicked all of them out to enable them to run tests. Bobby had kicked them all out in order to “get some rest,” he had grumbled.

 

The sound of the door squealing, and his mother's and Eileen's voices' returning from their coffee run jolted Dean from his thoughts, as they stepped in to the otherwise empty waiting room with him.

 

“I don't understand why it bothers you so much Mary. He's single, not a stray puppy that needs an owner!”

 

Mary still attended Sign Language classes weekly, but she was the weakest of the family, and so she and Elieen tended to speak rather than sign, even though Elieen found it tiring to lip-read constantly.

 

“He is! He does need an owner! You and Sam are married for heavens sake! He should have a wife to look after! He needs someone to care for and to care for him! There's a nice girl that Millie knows who's willing to go out with him despite his recent failures. I don't know what the problem is, really! He's attractive, intelligent, he owns his own home. He shouldn't be alone at his age!”

 

It was then than the actual words of their conversation made it through his sleep deprived brain. Their meaning settled and wormed in to him.

 

Something snapped.

 

Dean flew to his feat, fatigue forgotten in his instant fury. He threw his arms in the air and paced the confined room like a caged animal.“For Christ's sake mother! Can you hear your self? You sound like some disgruntled widow from the eighteen hundreds! As Eileen said, I'm single! It's not a terminal disease, it's not a slight on you, it's not because I'm ugly or stupid or poor. It's because, quite aside from the fact that I don't like any of your ridiculous blind dates, I'm perfectly happy single! I. Dont. Want. A. Girlfriend. Or a boyfriend for that fucking matter!” Dean threw his arms up in the air, so utterly furious that he hadn't realised what he had said.

 

Mary's jaw dropped.

 

“I like my life! I like hanging out with dad and Bobby in the garage, I love my job. I like my home just as it is. I have friends I enjoy seeing. I like cooking for my self. I like having Sammy and Eileen around for movie nights in. I'm not ready for kids. I don't want a white wedding. I am fucking over the moon that Sam has found someone, and I don't care that he got there first!” Dean was leaning against the tiny window sill now, strength gone but still thrumming with rage, his hand running through his hair in agitation. Mary was stood completely still, mouth slack, eyes wide.

 

“You and Harry and fuckin' Millie can arrange as many dates as you like. I. Will. Not. Go. It's degrading to me, to the girl, and to you lot too! Do you not get how sad it is that you cannot accept that Sam has a wife and a kid before me? What happens when Harry marries his girl? _The youngest?_ Will earthquakes rip open the ground and the sky fall? No! Of course it fucking wont! He'll be happy and me and Millie will survive another day without the requirement of being in a relationship first! Jesus! Where did you even get this fucking outlook huh?”

 

Mary didn't answer her son's question. Instead she asked one of her own, which simply set her red-faced, panting, incandescently angry, over tired and hungry eldest on yet another tirade.

 

“You're gay?”

 

“What?” He snapped. His eyes went round as he went through everything he had said in the past five minutes. His eyes got rounder as he realised what he had let slip. Then they narrowed. He took a step forward. His voice lowered, became silky smooth. Mary's look of shock became one of mild fear as Dean's hands curled in to fists. “Do you know what mom? Yeah. Yeah, I am fuckin' gay. Or bi- if you want to be precise. And your outdated, narrow minded, bigoted, childish view point on gay people is what has prevented me saying anything to anyone my entire life. You need to grow up and develop some opinions of your own you silly old woman. Stop parroting what Grandpa said and _think_ about it.” He spat his words out as he towered over her.

 

“I know you don't actually believe they- we're sick and wrong. You don't care about religion either, so why do you talk as if we're degenerates and the lowest of the low huh?” He paused, breathing heavily. “Do you know what? Fuck this.” He let out an annoyed huff of air, his fury leaving him, exhaustion sweeping in like the tide to take over. _Bye, Eileen._ He signed as he walked out of the waiting room. If Bobby, and half the hospital, hadn't heard his little outbreak, it would have been a miracle. He found that he wasn't actually worried now, now that he had come out, in the angriest of terms, to the one person who's reaction he had feared. Everyone else would be fine.

 

-

 

Castiel awoke with a groan. He curled up in a ball amongst his thin sheet and wrapped his arms around his head in acute discomfort. He was still roiling from his interactions with Dean the previous night. What had possessed him? What had possessed him to be so familiar with a stranger, with anyone? He could hardly speak out loud on a day to day basis, why had be been capable of not only talking with the man, but staying by his side in such a familiar manner for so long? How on God's earth had he managed to offer him a lift? To actually pick him up, even after his initial refusal?

 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.” Castiel whined under his breath, panting in to the crook of his elbow.

 

He hiccoughed as his breath caught, but he held the air in his lungs. After a slow count, he made it to sixteen, before he had to gasp out the air and he pulled in a full lungful of warm fuggy air from within his bed clothes.

 

Castiel laughed weakly to himself. “What the fuck?” He whispered almost wonderingly, still curled in to his defensive foetal position.

 

It took five more minutes before the lack of fresh air within the confines of his bed got too much, and his body awoke sufficiently to tell him how damned hot it was, his back breaking out in a sweat.

 

He made a noise of disgruntlement and launched himself out of the clinging bed and in to his curiously lit shower room. He dropped the soft pyjama pants he wore to bed as the shower heated. For once he examined himself in the cracked mirror. The light was awful, dull and flickering. It made his skin look grey in places as opposed to intricately etched with fluid swirls, and regimented ranks of binary, pouring over his muscles and marching across his skin, growing in scale across his shoulders and dissipating to near interoperability near his hip bone, then cascading down his legs. He smiled, remembering the mind numbing sessions it had taken, his angry insistence it was one hundred percent correct. He eyed the pictures the crowded then spaced noughts and ones formed, a secondary message formed from the first. Layers of meaning and a private joke designed for an audience of one.

 

With a lopsided grin he stepped under the sinfully hot water of the old but immaculately clean shower.

 

It didn't take many minutes of the steaming water striking his back to reach his equilibrium. “I didn't feel disturbed in his presence because of the fairly immersive distraction of an exploding firework factory and bolts of lightning meeting every high point.” He reassured himself. “I offered him a lift because of a mix of pity and adrenaline flooding my system, from the storm, not the interaction.” He whispered to himself. “When he refused I picked him up anyway for the same reasons.” He swiped shampoo from his eyes. “It wasn't awful in the car with him because I was concentrating heavily on keeping the car on the road with all that rain, and because he didn't seem to need to talk.” Castiel nodded to himself. Finally, his brain tried to skitter from the last thing that was causing him such painful retrospective shyness. That smile. The tiny half smile the man had sent his way as he'd slipped from the car's warmth, back in to the torrential rain. “It's fine,” he told himself. “He was just thanking you for the lift.” He chose to ignore the way his heart jumped at the mere memory of it.

 

Castiel completely ignored his reflection as he left the shower room, wrapped about the hips with a crisp white towel. He flopped in to his large desk chair, wet hair painting trails of cooling water down his bare back as he poked the mouse to wake the computer up. He ignored the letter sitting trapped against the function keys of his keyboard, and the accompanying wave of hurt, confusion, anger and uncertainty that followed. The screen now showed lines and lines of code, programming he had been working on before he passed out at about four in the morning, just as the birds were starting to sing. The display on the screen now read a little after ten thirty in the morning, golden sun and the freshest breeze he had felt in weeks floating through the open window. He looked back to his computer, smiling as, still damp and just in a towel, he threw himself in to work. He had plenty to get through before he left for his Thursday shift at the cinema.

 

-

 

**Cas! CAS!**

 

**Caaaaas**

 

**Castiel you hooligan**

 

**Mother of my children?**

 

**Answer meeeee!**

 

**Caaaaaas!**

 

**I'll fire you if you don't answer.**

 

_You can't fire me. Your business would tank. You would lose your only hermit friend._

 

**True, but you answered anyway. Huh? Huh?**

 

_Charlie._

 

**What?**

 

_What the fuck do you want?_

 

**Oooooooooh! Cracking out the swear words Cas! What's got your panties in a twist?**

 

_I neither have, nor ever have had panties. And if I did they certainly wouldn't be in a twist. I am reasonably orderly._

 

**Really? I figured you for a slob.**

 

**Wait, you think you're my friend? Awwwww.**

 

_Fuck you._

 

**Ugh. No thanks! I shall continue to swoon after my handmaiden. She's so pretty. So much better than the last handmaiden too. Less dick for a start.**

 

**Less of a dick too…**

 

_Charlie! I'm trying to work here. What do you want from me?_

 

**Well, I can tell for a start that you've hacked messenger and changed how my name shows up on your computer again...**

 

_I'm signing off now._

 

**Noooooo!**

 

**Wait!**

 

**I actually wanted to check you were ok after that fire tore through your town.**

 

_Charlie, that was nearly two weeks ago._

 

**And?**

 

_And you're just checking on my welfare now?_

 

**Yes?**

 

_I'm blown away by your concern for my safety. Bowled over by how much you care. I cannot cope with your loving need to ensure my well being, and check on deadlines._

 

**Oh.**

 

**Well.**

 

**How is the** **forest coming along?**

 

_Perfectly fine thank you Charlie, and it will be up on the server by the deadline as with all my work._

 

**Right.**

 

**That's good.**

 

**But. I suppose. I ought to let you know.**

 

… _..?_

 

_Oh God._

 

_What?_

 

**Well. I need to meet with some new lawyers. I wanted to chat to them face to face and their offices are over your way. The lead guy, Winchestings or something, thinks he can help with that law suit from Hell's Dog House Games.**

 

**Stupid ass hole. It's clearly his company that's stolen from us!**

 

_Charlie…_

 

Castiel frowned as he reread the conversation between him and his boss on the messenger screen. Something had changed since the evening the fire tore through the Industrial Quarter. His life was exactly the same, and yet it felt as if something had unclenched slightly within himself. He could talk more easily with Charlie, even if it was still restricted to purely online conversations. But, it was not that that drew his attention. Winchestings.

 

Castiel extracted the crinkled letter from the creased envelope perched in his keyboard. He scanned the page, eyes only lighting on the odd word or phrase, a sick feeling roiling in his belly.

 

“Winchestings, Winchestings.” He muttered to himself under his breath. He scanned the page to make sure. He was certain, but he needed to know. He didn't really need to read it any longer. It was all he thought of when not working. His mother had died three years ago. He had a sister. His sister was named Eileen Winchester, nee Leahy. She wished to meet Castiel, who she believed to be called James, her brother. The solicitor would set everything up. If only he would reply.

 

He slumped in relief as he saw it was as he thought. Winchester, not Winchestings.

 

**Right. Well. As the flights are a bit awkward, I'm staying the night in a hotel, and then I'm coming to visit you the next day.**

 

Cas read the new message and his stomach instantly clenched. A shiver ran down his arms. Their relationship had improved over the past few weeks, and he did like Charlie, but he didn't know if he could cope with meeting her, with hosting a visit.

 

**Look, I worry about you man, and we've been working together for…**

 

**Forever! I wanna give you a hug and say hi for real!**

 

Still eyeing the envelope in his hands, Castiel felt overwhelmed. Winchestings sounded a lot like Winchester. Charlie had invited her self to visit.

 

He decided he couldn't cope with this onslaught any more.

 

_I need to go Charlie. We'll talk about this later._

 

**Promise?**

 

_Yes._

 

**Ok. Remember to eat lunch!**

 

Castiel sighed.

 

_Yes C_ _h_ _arlie._

 

He shook his head and shoved the letter back in the envelope, as he had countless other times. He wanted to meet his sister, the sister he hadn't known about until a few weeks previously. But he was terrified. He wanted to know her story, wanted to know why his mother's life had been kept a secret from him. But, that old feeling of dread blanketed him once again, at even the mere thought of trying to talk freely with people, let alone someone who meant so much to him, even without knowing them. Someone who was actually family.

 

He tried to dispel that thought process.

 

He now had too many terrifying problems to deal with. First and foremost, he had to eat lunch, finish the coding he was working on, get showered and dressed then head out to the cinema for his Wednesday night shift, although only the latter part of that held any terror for him. Secondly he had to dwell, worry and panic about Charlie's visit. Thirdly, The Letter reared it's head back in to his thoughts. He tamped that down. Fourthly, and he despised himself for refusing to listen to his own desire to simply let it go, he was planning on saying hello to Dean when he arrived at the cinema tonight.

 

It was true, the previous Wednesday, he had not shown up. Castiel had assumed he had managed to avoid another date set up by his family. But, when he walked in the foyer doors, date or not, Cas was determined to smile and say “Hello Dean” to the man. He had it all planned. He had had two weeks to come to terms with the fact that Dean, for all his initial bad attitude, had been easy to be in the company of, and Castiel was determined to _try._ To at least try and talk to him once again. He could not allow someone with whom he felt even the merest of connections slip by. Without the distractions of a firework show and a torrential down pour, he might, once again, find himself grunting out single syllable words in a gruff fashion, too tongue tied to let words flow, but he would never forgive him self if he didn't at least try and speak to him once again. 

 

It was not as if he was one to give up easily. The ink on his skin and the change of his name was proof enough of that.

 

-

 

Castiel dropped the stub of his cigarette on to the tarmac. It's red bead of heat extinguished under the heavy sole of his boot. He sighed in disappointment. His three regular couples were already seated, chatting between themselves. It was all already five past eight.

 

He stomped quietly in to the darkened theatre after having flicked the switch in the projection room. As usual he was completely ignored by the patrons,  every one of them already absorbed by the film. 

 

He got twenty minutes in to the film before he gave in to the itchy feeling in his feet and hands and left the theatre. Within seconds h e was pacing the foyer running his hands through his hair.  Dean hadn't shown up. He had spent the past week planning his greeting to the man, and he had the audacity to not show up. He thumped his fist in frustration on the counter top, rattling the ticket printer and a broken coffee mug of inky biros,  and sending his phone skittering across the surface, and off, on to the floor.

 

H e stared at the point where the phone had been resting.

 

“Oh shit.” He groaned to himself as he moved through the door to retrieve his phone, handling it as if it were radioactive. “She'll never let me live it down.”

 

TO MooneyQueen:

Any advice on becoming socially graceful/not terrified within the next two hours without resorting to alcohol or drugs?

 

TO Me:

Alcohol AND drugs…

 

To Me:

Why? Oooh… is there a boy?? A girl???

 

To Me:

Eeee! Right! I'm going to email you some resources. Breathing exercises and the like ok?

 

To Me:

But drugs and booze will help too. And cigarettes. And alcohol. And more alcohol.

 

To MooneyQueen:

Not helping…

 

To Me:

So there is a someone?!

 

To MooneyQueen:

Really not helping.

 

-

 

Dean cursed as the knock on his front door caused him to drop the wooden spoon he was stirring his dinner with. He had been working late at Bobby's once again. He and his father had already managed to replace and repair what had been damaged by the firework coursing through their friend's home. They had spent the entire day replacing the metal roof of the work shop, easy but back breaking work, that with just the two of them, had taken them well in to the night.

 

“Seriously, it's quarter to eleven. Who could possibly need me so desperately at this time of night.” he grumbled, grabbing the spoon from the floor.

 

Ever since he had accidentally come out to his mother and Eileen about his sexuality, he had had an influx of visits from his Dad, Sam and Eileen. His mother, Millie and Harry had been suspiciously absent. He didn't blame his younger siblings. He knew his mom was trying to come terms with having a new perspective forced upon her. Millie and Harry were sulking because he had refused point blank to take another one of their awful friends on a date. Harry's reaction had been worth the angst according to Sam. When their mother had announced, in hysterics, to a family meeting Dean had not been invited to, that Dean was bisexual, he had thrown an instant hissy fit, throwing his arms in the air, and bitching because all this time they could have been setting Dean up with people of both sexes. Sam had faithfully recounted the whole thing.

 

Their mother wasn't talking to Harry now either.

 

Wondering if Sam had turned up to drag him to another private family meeting, as he had promised to do so if their mother was ever so underhand as to exclude him again, Dean opened the door. He still held the wooden spoon in hand, tea towel thrown over his shoulder and Batman pyjama bottoms slung low on his hips. A soft, oil stained Credence' t-shirt stretched across his chest. His bare toes wriggled on the mat.

 

His mouth fell open as he saw who was on the other side of the door.

 

He stared.

 

The man stared back, all messy dark hair, jeans so old they were practically grey, the fabric shredded at the knees, a six pack of beer held in one hand and a DVD case in the other, his cheeks flushed light pink.

 

Dean couldn't really comprehend what he was seeing. The taciturn man from the cinema was on his door step, knuckles white, eyes wide, breathing fast. “I brought Jaws.” He suddenly spat out, then he looked down and bit his lip, hard, before speaking quickly. “I- You haven't been at the cinema. I- Are you okay?”

 

-

 

Castiel counted to five steadily in his head, breathing out slowly through his nose, doing his best to remember all the patronizing advice websites Charlie had emailed to him. He had decided to ensure he said hello to Dean this evening, and Charlie's additional plans aside, he was determined to achieve that. He could not bolt, he would not to simply turn tail and run.

 

Despite his panic, despite his usual obliviousness to other people, he couldn't help but notice that Dean looked completely different to how he had looked on his dates. Not only was his hair a mess, his clothes beyond casual, he seemed at ease, comfortable, softer somehow.

 

On his next deep inhale he caught the soul soothing aroma of chilli cooking. He couldn't help the tiny smile the smell brought to his face.

 

With a frown of intense confusion, Dean stepped aside and gestured for Castiel to enter his house.

 

For the first time in his life, Castiel experienced verbal diarrhoea as he passed Dean on the threshold of his home. His usually internalised speech was ripped from him with the realisation that he had done something completely insane. Who checks up on complete strangers because they cease coming to your place of work? He cringed and spat words out almost unconsciously and at random whilst simultaneously looking for an escape route. “I wondered if you were sick. My friend suggested I bring the beer. And the film. I don't really know why. _Are_ you okay? You never answered.”

 

Despite his escalating panic he still found the aroma of chilli filling the house comforting, until he had a terrifying flash of insight. Perhaps, he thought, Dean had stopped coming to the cinema because he had found a girl he actually liked, and now he was entertaining her at home. And Cas had just crashed. He turned immediately seeking the door and found the worried eyes of Dean mere feet from him.

 

A frown and bewildered expression still filled his face, but he jerked his head silently toward the door way to Cas' left. He looked and saw a small lounge, thankfully empty of a pissed off looking date. “Jaws?” He made it a question and held up the DVD case as if it were a shield. Castiel was almost convinced that it was at this point. Dean's face, never breaking eye contact, managed to convey both mirth, disgust and disbelief all in a matter of moments. The smirking reaction seemed to be exactly what Castiel needed.

 

“What?” He asked angrily. “It's a classic thriller!” What the fuck did this philistine know, he grumbled in his head, no longer hoping for a quick exit, but looking forward to educating this poor son of a bitch in front of him. 

 

Dean snorted and gestured toward the large t elevision, set in to shelves in his lounge. “Like Chilli?” He asked, making Castiel realise that he had been entirely silent all this time, adding a new surge of  embarrassment , fear and nausea to his  agitated state.  It was his turn to be silent, and he felt a jolt of nerves gun down through his chest as he nodded  slightly suspiciously at Dean's question.

 

-

 

Dean moved in to his kitchen  feeling utterly bewildered. He could  _feel_ his  eyebrows and mouth pulled in to a  confused expression. He was on the verge of  either  hysterical laughter or yelling at the crazy person to get out of his house. He couldn't decide. 

 

But he had let him in all ready. He didn't have the countenance of someone set on weird-assed murder. Maybe a weird stalker though. So weird that he just sauntered up to the front door with beer and a movie and asked if he was okay. So, not really stalking. And no one looked that scared if they were going to be up to no good, well, not the kind of scared Cas looked. The guy kept jumping at his own words, grimacing as if pained every time he said something. And a comical look of surprise on his face when he'd told Dean off for not appreciating Jaws. Well… That was not the action of someone planning gruesome torture. Was it?

 

Dean stirred the chilli, inhaling deeply of the hot, spicy scent. He began dishing up the meal he had cooked, and navigated to the lounge where Castiel was trying to find the right channel for the DVD player. He put bowls, sour cream, guacamole and cutlery on the coffee table, then went back for the chilli and rice, plopping a couple of serving spoons in to the steaming mountains of food. He checked the oven, where the result of his comfort-cooking was almost done, and set the timer on his phone before joining Castiel and the menu sequence to Jaws on his worn leather sofa. He dumped the bowls on the coffee table. “Help your self, buddy.” He said, his voice making Castiel jump, as if he had forgotten that Dean was there. He sniggered, but frowned at the same time. What a weird guy he was.

 

Cas looked over at him, scowling, but with a tiny tilt to his lip, making Dean think he might be smiling despite being made to jump. He looked as if he wished to say something, his eyes wide and expressive, but he seemed to have used up his speech quota earlier. Dean shook his head and shrugged. Each to their own, he thought. He cracked open one of beers Cas had brought and handed it over. Castiel ducked his head in thanks, and reciprocated by spooning rice neatly in to a bowl and topping it with chilli. He passed it over to Dean, waiting while he opened his own beer. Dean watched as Cas filled his own bowl, covering it in an unhealthy amount of sour cream and a round glob of guacamole. A moment later Cas frowned and spoke at the same time as Dean exclaimed that he'd forgotten the cheese. “Can I smell cookies?” Dean's phone started bleeping furiously. “Shit! Yes! You can.” 

 

He leaped back in to the kitchen and grabbed his sheet of cookies from the oven. They were perfect. Grinning, he swiped the cheese grater from the draining board, and the block of cheddar from the fridge. “And, if you behave you may just get one.” He said around a laugh, as he returned to the sofa, handing Cas the cheese. All he got was a blank face and a disbelievingly raised eyebrow in return.

 

He sank back in to cushions and pressed play on the  DVD menu.  Ca s tiel appeared to have run out of conversation again, but it didn't seem to matter. For all of his weirdness; the fact that he had clearly been concerned enough about  D ean to turn up at his door s tep and check that he was ok ay after meeting a handful of times, and  when  only one of those had been a friendly interaction,  Dean felt  he was easy to be in the company of. Even his silence was  comfortable. He shrugged and decided to  enjoy the extremely strange evening. He started  shovelling chilli in to his mouth and took in the movie, his quiet companion completely enthralled by the film, neatly chewing each mouth full as silently as everything else he seemed to do.

 

-

 

Castiel took the initiative and passed across the second beer of the evening, enjoying the feeling of fullness in his belly from Dean's chilli. His shoulder’s had relaxed slightly during the past half an hour. He risked sitting back on the sofa, resting the bottle against his thigh, held lightly in his hand.

 

In a lull in the movie, Dean sprinted to the kitchen and returned silently with a plate filled with still warm chocolate chip cookies.

 

By the end of the movie, Castiel was the most relaxed he had ever been outside of his own home. That wasn't saying much, he acknowledged to himself, but, he was sitting back, had three beers, chilli and cookies in his belly. He also felt a tiny pin prick of glowing pride that he had done more than he had set out to do that day. He was still worrying at his bottom lip in anxiety about the silence that had suddenly become noticeable again now that the credits were working their way up the screen, but he was impressed with himself, and not a little confused, that he had managed to sit through an entire movie with a stranger, in their home, without the necessity of it being his job.

 

Before he could sit up and collect his DVD in readiness to leave, the film over, the beers gone, Dean cleared his throat.

 

“Uh, I _am_ fine, by the way. You asked earlier?” Castiel just nodded at him, wide eyed and tongue tied. Surprised. “My, uh. My uncle, boss, whatever. His place got hit. By one of those fireworks? That night.” Dean looked on edge, even Castiel could tell that. “Um, when you dropped me off, I had to go straight to the hospital. I kinda felt like it was my fault that he got burned. His home and the garage got damaged. If I had answered my phone that night y'know?” Castiel watched as Dean bit his lip, but didn't offer any words in return. “Anyway, the next day I had a, um, argument with my mom. I refused to go on any more dates, and- So. Um, that's why I've not been coming to the cinema since then. No dates, and I've spent most days until late helping to re-build Bobby's place. And, y'know, make sure the cantankerous old bastard has his pain meds to hand.” The man's lips lifted in a half smile, full of fondness.

 

Castiel smiled, and for once what he had to say came easily. “I'm glad you're okay, and your friend.” He got up and retrieved Jaws. “Thank you.” _For being nice, for being easy to be near, for not freaking out, nor telling me to leave. Thank you for sharing yourself with me, even a little bit. Thank you for feeding me, for not having a date, for inviting me in._ _Thank you for being friendly._ “Bye Dean.” 

 

“Bye Cas.” Dean smiled up at him and let him go.

 

-

 

Dean watched  Casteil leave his house from the comfort of his sofa. It was the strangest evening he had had in a very long time. 

 

He got up to throw their cleared bowls in the sink and put the left overs in the fridge. As he swiped a dish cloth over their forks, he caught him self thinking that it was the best Wednesday he'd had since this blind date fiasco had begun.

 

As he put the cutlery in the holder to drain he very  purposefully decided to  _not_ think about his evening in that way.

 

-

 

Castiel fell out of bed.

 

He grunted as he landed on the floor, wrapped up in bed sheets, his boxer shorts twisted uncomfortably. He coughed, the sour taste of yesterday's beer mixing with stale cigarette smoke and- Oh yeah. Latex.

 

His stomach heaved. “What the fuck-” He groused in a hoarse whisper.

 

Another round of knocking smashed against the front door of his apartment revealing the reason for his rude awakening. “Fuck off” he yelled, his hangover making him more acerbic and short of temper than usual.

 

“No!” a chipper sounding voice yelled back through the door.

 

“whyyyy.” He half sobbed to himself. He had gone out to the dingy club in the city, filled with the more alternative of people, the night before. He had been bored and horny and he hadn't felt interested in gaming. He'd wanted loud music, whiskey, beer and mindless sex as he had had nothing to do. He had finished all his assignments until Charlie got back from her visit here and could give him something new to work on.

 

Oh, he thought to himself through the haze of too much alcohol and post one-night stand disgust and embarrassment. Charlie's visit. How could he have forgotten.

 

The jolt of nerves at knowing he actually had to face someone and talk to them was dampened by the bubbling nausea in his belly, and simultaneously made much, much worse. “Wait” he yelled at the door and stumbled up, untangling himself, and lurched to the bathroom where he leant over the toilet and heaved up the last of the evening's drink.

 

He looked at himself under the yellow light and grimaced. It was an activity he avoided at the best of times. This morning was not  a best of time. He looked like he had slept  in a gutter . Eyeliner was smeared down one cheek, mysterious filth covered his right side.  He pulled off his underwear and winced at the dried come on his cock. He remembered flushing the condom down the toilet, but he had obviously not felt the need to clean him self up at all last night. “Shit”  he rasped out.

 

Leaning against the every available surface, he managed to  manoeuvre himself to the front door. “Charlie?”

 

“Yep!” Came the instant reply.

 

“Ugh.” he grunted at her happiness and he bit his lip trying to force the words out. “I'm going to put the key under the door. Can you wait five minutes before you let your self in? I need to shower.”

 

“This is the weirdest meeting ever, but sure!”

 

He coughed, needing a cigarette badly. “Good. Um. Make coffee.”

 

He dropped the key and nudged it under the locked door with his toe, not trusting his stomach with the whole bending down thing.

 

Fifteen minutes later he was clean, fully dressed and psyching himself up to leave his dark bathroom and face his boss. It was the aroma of fresh coffee that finally dragged him out of hiding.

 

As he turned the corner in to his  kitchen , he found Charlie leaning against the cupboard, a mug in her hand. They  ey ed each other as she slid a  second  mug across the work top toward him.  She waited until he had taken a generous sip of the  scorching and  bitter stuff. He pulled a face as he swallowed, forgetting that he ' d just scrubbed his teeth to within an inch of their lives. 

 

The woman in front of him was- Red headed, short, with clear skin and bright clothes. He sighed. It was the best he could do. He had never been, nor would ever be, capable of taking one look, and knowing what sort of person was before him. He couldn't tell whether she was as nice as she always seemed, or if she was simply hiding her true personality.

 

“You're taller than I thought you would be.” She said abruptly, looking up at him with a glint in her eye. He frowned and stepped back a little, which, it seemed, was a wise but ultimately useless movement. “Hey bestie!” Charlie yelped and launched her self at Cas, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He only just managed to keep hold of his coffee mug. He assumed Charlie would have complained if he had accidentally poured the scolding contents down her back. He didn't know what to do, leaning back away from her as much as possible and awkwardly patted her shoulder with his free hand until she let go, dropping back to her feet on the ground. He felt entirely overwhelmed by her existence at that moment.

 

T he thing about  C harlie,  C as discovered over the  next half an hour, was that she simply by-passed regular interaction. There was non e of the 'nice to meet you's, nor the 'so where di d you grow up? 's '  C onversation with her wasn't un c omfortable because she acted as if they had known each other for ever. She  blithely ignored his awkward silences and his bewilderment, which normalised the situation for him effortlessly. She didn't care about his ineptitude, it didn't matter to her, and she talked on as if he was a regular person. 

 

It was a revelation. It was almost easier than the weird familiarity he and Dean had fallen in to two weeks previously when he had visited him at his home.

 

“I've called Chuck!” Charlie suddenly spouted, bouncing on her toes. “He's given you the night off! My flight is super late this evening and you are going to keep me company!” She grinned as if she had done him a huge favour. But he wasn't angry. Faced with her, albeit terrifyingly perky personality, he didn't quite feel glad, but he didn't feel his usual dread settle in at the thought of prolonged human interaction. If he was silent, it seemed she would happily fill the gaps for him.

 

\- 

 

Castiel shut the door on the grinning, waving form of Charlie. They had spent hours sat on the sofa Cas rarely used, watching DVD's he hadn't opened in years. He leant his forehead against the door, waiting for the sick feeling of reliving every awkward moment and tense silence. But it didn't come. Charlie had been- The only way he could describe it would be- A friend.

 

He supposed that evenings such as the one he had just experienced, for the second time in his entire thirty-five years, were normal for other people.

 

And, although the panic didn't grip him, nor the self-recriminations, he wasn't unaffected. He felt something clench at his heart as he realised that the times spent with both Charlie and Dean were how humans were meant to interact, and he suddenly felt the retrospective loss of what his whole life could have been like. He may not have laughed or hugged or relaxed fully, but most people in their day to day life were allowed that. Were allowed to simply be with other people without wanting to tear out their vocal chords and scream at them for not being more capable, or to cry at their brains because it couldn't bring words to mind, or buried them under years worth of expectation of being ignored, 'so what's the point?' They didn't resort to single syllable sentences because their tongues weren't glued to the roof of their mouths.

 

Castiel felt tears well up for the first time in years, and he simply let them fall, chest taught with the dual realisation that he had lost so many opportunities because people hadn't given him a chance, and the eye-opening potential for a much easier future, where there was at least one person who would happily give him the time of day.

 

It was hou r s later, long after his tears had dried, and his chest had loosened enough to breath e that a thought struck him. He had sat down at his computer, hoping for the distraction of work. Realising he was waiting on a new assignment from Charlie he opened one of the online games he could play solo. He had had more than enough interaction with people for one day, however pleasant it had been.  He had been thinking about how nice both the evening with Charlie and Dean had been, but how it was unlikely he would see Dean again, unless he  came back to the cinema, and even then, he didn't want to feel as if he were forcing his company upon him again. Once was quite enough for that. No, the thing which made him stop playing so completely where he sat, so much so that his character was shot to pieces by the enemy players, was that there was one more possibility for a normal, regular relationship.  Familial.

 

He eyed the envelope still propped in his keyboard.

 

Mrs Eil e en Winchester, nee Leahy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be kind?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight warning... I don't know how grossed out people may be, but there is a very short description of a burn injury nearly the beginning of this chapter!
> 
> Also, some mentions of past abuse.
> 
> More also, some 100% unresearched medical science and US legal systems and nursing home info. Soz 'n that.
> 
> (I just really wanted to get this chapter out. It's taken me about a million years and has eaten my soul. I hope it's ok!)

Dean grinned as he flew along deserted roads on his behemoth of a bike, the cool, early morning breeze whipping past him, buffeting his body as he took corners a little too fast and leant low over the handlebars. He laughed aloud, within the confines of his helmet, as he and the 1967, black trimmed Bonnie sailed back toward the town limits, cresting hills with a 'whoop!' and feeling his stomach swoop as they dropped in to the declines. The scenery flitted past as Beauty ate up the miles and sang her guttural song.

He had awoken with the dawn, and after appropriate grumbling about birds singing too loudly, and the consumption of two very large, very strong mugs of coffee, he had decided to take his bike out for a ride before the day truly got started, before the roads filled with idiots and office slaves. He missed riding for the simple joy of riding. 

Since the outburst at his mother, and in front of Eileen, he had found that without the stress of the awful dates, he was happier again. Waking early, sleeping soundly. He and his dad had finished work on Bobby's home and the garage, and today they were getting back to normal, working only on cars, trucks, vans and bikes once more. There were plenty to be fixed, rebuilt and renovated. 

He finally pulled up in to the yard of Bobby's garage in a cloud of dust and exhaust smoke. For once he had beaten even the old man down from his home above the shop. He slipped in to the kitchenette attached to the garage proper and put the coffee on. Between the three of them they got through gallons a day, or so it seemed, the pot endlessly being filled and emptied. He whistled as he poured in the ground coffee and dug through the cupboard for the filters, discarding the top two with a frown at the smudge of engine grease smeared across them. 

Since Bobby had got back on his feet again, he and John had relegated him to office work. He hadn't been badly injured, but the burns were taking their time to heal, and washing motor oil from them after even the simplest of jobs caused everyone involved too much distress, he and John trying to keep Bobby still while they all dabbed carefully at the wounds, Bobby muttering and swearing and griping. Bobby wouldn't be pushing paper for much longer though, the blisters were at that fascinatingly awful stage of the shiny, pink, new skin emerging from underneath a crispy, brittle top layer. Dean had told Bobby that their customers would not appreciate his skin in their engines.

Slurping noisily at his coffee he skimmed through the work sheet for the day. They were lucky, their garage was almost always busy, and they had a full day ahead of them, especially with Bobby stuck doing the accounts and paperwork. He sauntered in to the back room again, with his hands wrapped about the half empty mug, still whistling the unidentified tune, he pulled his overalls on. He poured a further two mugs of coffee and topped up his own as he heard the unmistakable growl of John's Impala and the flush of a toilet in the house above his head. 

“Shut up that God awful noise boy.” Bobby greeted him, accepting his coffee with his regular bad grace. Dean whistled louder.

“Mornin'” John smiled as he strode in to the room, nodding his thanks for the steaming coffee. “Tell your son to shut up.” Bobby growled. “It's too early for that cheery crap.” He groused, while rubbing at the crusty skin on his arm.

“What are you whistling?” John asked as Dean swatted Bobby's hand away and threw him the pot of salve on the counter top. 

Dean shrugged and threw back the last of his coffee, whistling louder through a grin as he half ran in to the garage, jumping in the air and clicking his heels together.

“What's got in to him?” 

“Hell if I know.” Bobby replied. 

With a fond laugh John pulled on his own overalls and shooed Bobby in to the office where he got the full Singer stink eye. 

Dean already had the hood of the first car on his list open, still whistling the infuriating song. While he did some basic checks, John pulled his first car of the day in to the hoist bay. By the time he had the car up over his head he was whistling the song too, a frown on his face. “Isn't that...” Dean looked up and saw the confused expression plastered all over his dad's features. “Isn't that the Pretenders? Tattooed Love Boys or something? What the hell got that song in your head?” John queried in a good natured, bewildered tone. Dean laughed. “God, I don't know! More to the point how did you recognize it old man?”

John scowled. “I used to play Guitar Hero with Harry and Millie remember? That was on one of the games. I've probably heard it hundreds of times.” He grimaced. “I think you loved that game more than those two did.” Dean laughed, remembering walking in to his parents house for a family meal and finding his two youngest siblings staring fixedly to the TV screen while his Dad attempted to play along, making all the jarring missed chord sounds. 

“Screw you!” Was his dad's witty retort, as they both returned to their work. Dean walked over and flipped the radio on to drown out the song stuck in his head.

“So… um-” John began after half an hour of concentration filled silence, a hesitant note to his voice. Dean looked up from the exposed engine he was working on, concerned. “I know I've already apologised for never standing against your mother's opinions on gay people.” Dean nodded, waiting. His dad had been the first person to visit after Mary's explosive declaration that Dean was bi. He had hugged his son and apologised profusely. He had offered no excuse and said he deserved Dean's ire as much as Mary did. He may not have agreed with her views, but he had never bothered to correct them, and he was sorry that his inaction had directly resulted in Dean being uncomfortable telling them something so important ad intrinsic to him. 

Dean had waved away the apology, explaining that none of them had stood up to her, including himself. “Go on.” He prompted John. “Well. I just wanted to let you know that she will come round. She's, er, having a hard time reconciling the fact that no one else shares her views, apart from that toxic friend of hers. She thought because no one called her out, that we all felt the same way, and so she thought she was in the right.” John sighed, rubbing a dirty hand across his face. “Turns out she has no negative feelings about gay people.” He screwed up his face and sighed again. “She's just been distraught that no one told her to stop being an idiot before now.”

Dean laughed, and it wasn't a pleasant sound. “She's distraught?” He asked, indignantly. 

John heaved another breath and nodded his head. “Yes, Dean. She is. She thought it was normal. And now she realises that she has been hurting you for years. And possibly all the kids, and anyone else around her. She's finally had it pointed out to her that gay people are real, they exist, they're people too. She's distraught because she is upset and angry at herself.”

Dean slumped. He knew all this, academically. He knew that that was the way she had been taught to behave, which was one of the reasons he had never been the one to call her out. She meant no harm. But her ignorance caused it none the less. He was almost glad that she was suffering, having her view of the world thrown through a complete one-eighty. 

He simply nodded at his dad, a feeling as if his tongue had fused to the roof of his mouth. As if he had used up all his words for the moment. As his dad nodded in acceptance and turned back to the car his was working on, Dean's thought's suddenly flashed to Castiel and the night he had visited him in his apartment. He remembered the look on the guy's face as he seemed to want to continue talking but just- couldn't. Dean felt much the same. It wasn't a feeling he wanted to get used to.

He scrunched up his face at the memory of that night. It had been such a weird occurrence that he had all but convinced himself that it hadn't happened. Only fleeting memories of it popping in to his head over the past two weeks; when he'd eaten the left overs of the chilli, when he had handed Robby's fluffy toy shark to him, when some tattooed guy had walked past him out side the garage.

In fact… Dean had found him self thinking about Castiel's tattoos for hours that day. The man's torso had been covered. Dean hadn't been able to see the detail of it, but it had looks like his body was wrapped with script. Tendrils of it encircling his body, lines running up his neck, cascading down his arms, blocks of potentially-text disappearing under the low slung waistband of shorts and reappearing at fine lines on his calves. It was what the swirling, shifting lines made up that had caused Dean to lose track of his thoughts the night they had watched the firework factory go up in flames. The text on his torso, gathered and bunched from clavicle to the lightly haired trail dropping down from his navel, split him in two. One half lightly tattooed, the other heavily, creating an almost yin yang pattern, delineating the two halves with icons Dean couldn't identify, but knew he had seen before. The fascinating patterns also formed shapes on his hip and shoulders, but Dean hadn't been able to see clearly. He had been to embarrassed at being caught looking, and too hung up on trying to work out what the giant icons were-

“Dean!” Bobby yelled in his face, pulling him from his reverie with a jerk. “wha-?” He answered intelligently. 

“I've been calling you for five minutes boy! Where's your head at huh?”

Dean thought guiltily of Cas for the briefest of moments before the memory was wiped completely from his thoughts. An agonisingly beautiful car was rolling on to the work shop floor. 

“Yeah, that's what I thought.” Bobby muttered, rolling his eyes at Dean's covetous gaze at the car. “Take a break boy, look over the paper work, and then you can get to renovating the old girl huh?” Dean simply flashed a wide grin at the older man before dropping his tools and scampering off to the back room for a coffee with the clipboard Bobby handed him clutched in his oily grip.

-

It had passed Dean's usual clocking off time, still joyously buried under the engine of the sadly neglected shell of a car, when his phone started ringing from the break room of the garage. He sighed, not wanting to stop a job half way through, and continued to carefully wrench a second rusted bolt around on the car's belly.

“Dean!” Bobby shouted, John long having gone home, “It's your brother.” Dean grunted and waved his arm around from under the car. “Thanks Bobby.” He muttered when the man dropped the vibrating phone in to his outstretched palm. 

It was a health and safety nightmare, but he answered the call, phone clamped between his shoulder and ear, while he continued to swipe filth and accumulated oil and rust from the unerside of the car.

“Dean!” Sam greeted excitedly on the other end of the line. “What's up little brother?” Dean asked around the first greasy bolt he had removed, held between his lips.

“Shit Dean! I don't even know-” He paused, clearly unable to continue. He sounded thrilled, and Dean wondered, with a shot of electricity to his gut, whether maybe he was going to become an uncle again. His lip ticked up at the thought before that bubble was burst as Sam continued. “It's the solicitors, Dean. They got in touch! They've found James!”

Dean dropped the spanner he had held on his face in shock.

“OW! FUCK! Fuck! Shit! That's amazing!” Dean was grinning and trying not to swallow the blood now tricking from his nose while attempting to spit out the oily bolt he had nearly swallowed simultaneously. 

“Crap. Hang on Sammy, I'm trying not to die under a car here!” He rolled himself out from under the vehicle, beautiful renovation job all but forgotten. Once sitting upright on the creeper and swiping at the blood from his bloodied nose he spat out as much oil and grit from the bolt as he could before picking up the phone again. “Right. So. James got in touch huh? Shit, that's awesome!” He was elated. This was something Eileen had needed since she had been made aware of his existence.

“Well, the solicitor called. Said that James had been in touch with him. Apparently he still lives locally! I mean- That's insane right?” Dean just nodded, knowing Sam didn't need encouragement to tell him all the news “The solicitor didn't really tell us anything about him. Seemingly the guy isn't very talkative, just asked to arrange to set up a meeting. Eileen wanted to agree immediately, but I suggested we talk it out as a family first. It's kind of a big step.”

“Yeah, man. I guess. It's up to her though, obviously. He's her brother. If she wants to meet him and exclude us all I'm still going to support her.” He could hear Sam's smile through the phone when he answered. “Yeah. I agree, but I'd like for at least you, me and Dad to be there maybe. Just to make her feel secure.” 

Dean smiled, he was glad that he and his brother were so close. “What ever the two of you want, you know that.”

He heard the intake of breath over the line. “So… That means you're up to going around to mom and dad's tonight then?” 

Dean groaned. He should have seen that one coming. He sighed but nodded. He had to face his mom again, and soon. They needed to make up, and he needed to know he was still accepted by her. He just hadn't planned on it being so soon. 

“Of course Sammy. I'll be there.”

“Great. Thanks Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah. I'll see you tonight.”

They hung up and Dean looked balefully at the car. “I guess I'll be seeing you tomorrow.” He muttered, and went to get changed out of his overalls and to attend to his bloody nose.

-

“Here.” Eileen said quietly with a glint in her eye as she handed across her son. “Protection.” She winked and closed the door behind Dean, walking back in to the lounge to join the rest of the Winchester Clan.

“Hey Robby.” Dean spoke to the baby. He got a dribbly smile in return, which was good enough for him. Using the surprisingly heavy child as a shield, as suggested, he finally entered the room and was greeted by the smiling eyes of John, Sam, Eileen and Harry and the assessing eyes of Millie. Mary was studying the coffee table intensely. 

“Oh! Snacks!” He stated to try and break the loaded atmosphere. He bent over causing Robby to squeal and laugh, and grabbed a handful of chips. John handed him a soda and made room for him on the sofa. “What the hell happened to your face?” John asked, eyeing the puffy lump that his nose used to be. “Rogue spanner.” He muttered with a laugh, because it was the most innocuous (pre-)black eye he had ever had, and was deserving of the mockery it would garner.

John simply rolled his eyes. 

The conversation deciding who wanted, and who was wanted to be there to meet and greet James to the family was reasonably quick. Millie and Dean argued that the fewer people there the less overwhelming it would be for both James and Eileen, but Mary and John wanted to be there to meet the new addition to their family. Sam wanted to meet him too whereas Harry wasn't really bothered either way. 

It was Eileen who had the final say. How about we all meet him at Gabriel's, but just Sam and I greet him. The rest of you can be there, but unobtrusively. We'll tell him you're there and he can meet you if he likes, but if not you can all just stay put. How about that?

Everyone murmured or signed their agreement happily.

“Excellent!” John exclaimed, slapping his thighs before heaving himself upright, a fake grin plastered a mile wide across his face. Dean hugged Robby closer to him as he eyed his father and his suspicious behaviour.

“Gimmie the grandblob, Dean. Go help your mother with dinner huh?” 

The bastard.

Dean sighed. To fight, run, or put up with the potentially aggravating or awkward conversation with his mom? 

He hung his head and lifted Robby to John's arms. “I hate you.” He hissed out at his fathers beaming face as he passed. “I know son, I know.” 

Mary was already hunched over the chopping bored gripping a knife and failing miserably to cut potatoes in to even pieces when Dean entered the room. He sighed heavily. “Give me that mom.” He nudged her out of the way with his hip, taking the knife from her and began slicing the potatoes evenly to make wedges. 

Mary remained where she was standing, knuckles white on the edge of the counter. “I'm so angry with you.” She hissed out around a sob. 

“I- wait. I'm sorry, mom, what? You're angry with me?” 

She span around, just inches from Dean's face, tear streaks down her cheeks. “Yes!” She looked frenzied, eyes wide and cheeks pink. “Yes! You wait until now, now, to tell me you're bisexual? You wait until you're over thirty to tell me that you hate every opinion that I've ever held? That you basically despise me?” Her voice cracked, wracked with tears, but she remained standing tall, albeit with an arm wrapped around her self, as if to stop from falling apart.

Dean put the knife to one side and turned to face his mother fully. 

“I don't despise you mom. You've just always been...” He hesitated, then thought, fuck it, it's time she knew. “Unapproachable. Your opinions were gospel, we followed you around like sheep and worshipped you. It took me and Sammy a long time to realise that we were allowed our own opinions. It took me even loner to realise I liked guys too mom. We just couldn't come out and tell you that a whole lot of stuff you stated was bull shit. I'm sorry mom, but that's how it was- is.”

He looked down, ashamed to be causing his mother pain. 

“Well-!” Mary seemed to be finding it difficult to articulate her thoughts, and she turned away and started pacing the room. “Well, I want none of that- that shit any more! If I'm saying anything unacceptable you have to tell me! For fuck's sake Dean! I don't want to be an antiquated ass hole!” Dean had never heard his mother swear so long and colourfully. Nor had he seen her lose control like that, arms gesticulating in the air, tears pouring down her face unchecked. “Just tell me, damn it.” Dean watched aghast as she started sobbing properly, hunched and frail looking in the centre of the kitchen, chest heaving, nose snotty and eyes red.

“Oh mom. I'm sorry.” He engulfed her in a hug, wrapping her up securely in his arms, her face tucked against his chest. “I'm so sorry. We'll look out for you. I promise. You're just going to have to grow a thick skin I think pretty quickly if you really want our help to change.” He chuckled weakly, wondering if they would be able to make Mary aware of her shortcomings with out hurting her terribly. Mary snorted wetly in to his t-shirt. “It's fine Dean, I can handle it. I just don't want to cause you or anyone else any more pain. I don't want to be a bad person.”

Dean held his mom in his arms for another few minutes, just trying to process everything that had been said. It was only when he registered the dull ache in his nose that he snapped out of it, a wicked thought crossing his mind. He pushed Mary away keeping his hands pressed to her shoulders. “How about we chuck all that back in the fridge and call the pizza place huh?” He smiled encouragingly at Mary. “But it's the middl-” She stopped registering Dean's raised eyebrow. Mary refused point blank to allow the family to have take-out during the week. It was a once-in-a-blue-moon, only-at-the-weekend kind of a treat. 

Mary slumped and smiled sheepishly up at her son. “Just a cheese one for me please, then, Dean.” She agreed, and went to box up the half sliced potato for another day.

-

Dean was nervous, but more in worry for his sister-in-law. She had pinned so much on knowing her brother. Dean figured she looked on this meeting almost as closure to the mystery that was her upbringing. Dean watched as Sam fidgeted next to her, sitting at the central table in the small cafe that the Winchester's had taken over for the day. John was reclined, seemingly at ease with Millie next to him, looking mildly excited and pleased. Harry looked bored, having been dragged to the cafe by Millie, insistent that if they were all meant to be there he had to be too. Mary seemed beside herself with nerves and excitement. Eileen simply looked stunned. 

Much to Dean's chagrin, Robby seemed to be following his own lead and appeared to be nervous too. Dean had had to change his nappy twice since they had all ordered coffees and sat in three loose groups in Gabriel's. Back on Dean's knee and in fragrant silence, the small lump was chewing on his fist with a grin on his face once more.

Dean looked down at him and raised an eyebrow. “You really are your father's son, ya know that kiddo?” Robby looked at him and grinned even wider, making a small cooing noise. Dean laughed and started poking the kids face, making him giggle and laugh and try to grip Dean's fingers with own uncoordinated, drool smeared ones. 

Dean wrinkled up his face in mild disgust and wiped off his hand before grabbing his coffee and taking a sip. He sighed as the beautifully made iced latte slipped down his throat, cold in the still hot summer breeze drifting through the wide open windows. 

He was sitting at a table with Mary and Harry. Mary was talking intently about what James would be like, and Harry was trying to talk about his and John's joint birthday party coming up in a few weeks. Dean zoned their conversation out, neither of them were listening to the other in any case. He started trying to balance his nearly empty cup on Robby's head, making him squeal with delight and wriggle, dislodging it. Dean's hovering hands caught it each time and replaced it on the fine blonde hair, causing another flail and laugh. 

It was as he got bored and simply started waving Robby's feet around for him, a pair of chubby hands pawing at his chin, that the door to the cafe swung open slowly, revealing a tall, wild haired, black clad figure standing tensely in the portal. 

When Dean looked up, a smile still spread on his face and a tiny sticky palm scratching at his stubble, his eyes immediately met the piercing blue of Castiel's gaze. “Hey Cas.” He choked out, stunned.

Castiel, dressed in tight black jeans tucked in to his scuffed and heavy boots, a black shirt, tie and waistcoat, opened and closed his mouth a few times, eyes raking Dean from head to toe, landing for long moments on his bruised face and nephew perched on his knee. Wide eyed and confused, he simply nodded at Dean in acknowledgement before turning to take in the rest of the room. 

Sam and Eileen seemed to decide, in unison, to ignore Dean's familiar greeting to the man, and the clearly un-James-like name. Sam lumbered to his feet, suddenly awkward and clumsy. “You are you James?” He asked Castiel with a frown, sounding accusing rather than intent. Cas inclined his head unsmilingly in hesitant agreement, a deep frown cutting his features. Sam broke in to a grin and enthusiastically leant over the table, hand out stretched to shake. “Hi! I'm Sam! This is Eileen.” He smiled more softly as he indicated Eileen, who was still sitting, eyeing Cas doubtfully and appraisingly.

Dean was distracted from eyeing Castiel's broad back as he sat hesitantly in front of Sam and Eileen by Mary's re-entering the room. Dean hadn't even noticed her slip from the room to visit the rest room. 

“Is that James? Oh my God, is a goth?” Mary asked in the most disparaging stage whisper as she noted Castiel sitting with Sam and Eileen. Dean rolled his eyes and joined in with the rest of the family for the first public correction of Mary Winchester's narrow mindedness and they all groaned a loud chastising “Mom!” or “Mary.” 

Dean nearly swallowed his tongue as Castiel pulled a face before saying his first words to the room, swivelling in his seat to face Mary. “Not a goth. Just wear black a lot. Goths are actually a Germanic people of the third to fifth centuries who invaded the Roman Empire. Although, I do not find the modern subculture unappealing.” Castiel nodded at Mary and turned back to Eileen and Sam, face stuck in a mask of strained and tamped fear. “It is pleasant to meet you. Both.” He looked around him again, and caught Dean's eye. “Um, all.”

-

Castiel sat straight backed in his chair and eyed his sister and brother-in-law. He could feel the eyes of their family on him, especially the red hot gaze of Dean. Dean Winchester it would seem. He pushed the thought of the man to the back of his mind, his bruised face, as if he had been in a fight, incongruous with the devoted and beautific expression he had held with his attention on the child on his lap. Seeing that expression on Dean's face and sent a thrill of nerves through his gut. “I would appreciate you calling me Castiel. James is a name I gave up long ago.” He watched Eileen watch him intently with a frown on her face. “Can I ask why?” Elieen asked, voice thick, and Cas realised that she was deaf, her intense frown one of concentration as she lip-read. He mentally shrugged, even as his curiosity was piqued, wondering whether the cause was genetic or from another cause.

“You may.” He paused to consider his phrasing. “My- Our father wasn't an ideal parent. I left home and desired a fresh start.” He swallowed convulsively, trying to concentrate on the churning driving feeling he had held on to since Charlie's visit, the over riding need he had felt to make something more of him self, to push him self, to allow himself to connect with another human. He had not counted on meeting Elieen's entire family. He certainly hadn't expected to be connected to the one man that had begun the entire feeling to unfurl from within his lonesome chest in the first place.

He gripped his sweaty palms against his thighs and breathed deeply, closing his eyes. The silence rang and he knew Eileen was awaiting more elaboration. He bit his lip as his eyes rolled up under his closed lids, begging for strength. “I- I believed my mother had died when I was about four. She simply disappeared one day. From then on I was all but ignored by my father. He wasn't cruel, just absent and aloof to the point of abuse. I walked out at sixteen, changed my name, school and city. I moved here, because this is as far as I got, I suppose. I applied to college after school and when I graduated I came back. Frank, who used to run a bar, helped me when I first came here, put me up again until I got a reliable job. He didn't ask me any questions about who I was, but he still somehow knew who I had been, and dropped the knowledge that Marv Leahy had died of a heart attack while I was away at school. I believed myself an orphan until the letter from your solicitors arrived in the post. I have certain… Social problems, which is why it took so long for me to reply once they had tracked me down.”

He dry coughed, desperately wanting a cigarette already, despite having sucked down the smoke from three before entering the coffee shop fifteen minutes previously. His hands shook and he bunched them in to fists under the table. He looked up finally, blinking rapidly to meet the shocked gazes of Sam and Eileen. 

His focus settled on Eileen as he heard her take a sharp breath. She held it a moment, before opening her mouth to speak. “Our father committed our mother to Maple Park, just outside of the city. She was admitted, citing mental problems, from which arose self inflicted trauma. Our father chose not to become her carer. Maple Park is a home, for people who need daily support, whether the problem is physical or mental.” She paused as if to allow Castiel to absorb the information. He just wanted to know what had happened in the intervening years. 

“She was admitted, with a full insurance plan somehow, three months pregnant, and with healing injuries to her head and upper back, torso, especially the belly, and to her arms. They tried to reach Our dad after they discovered the injury. Mom was too frightened to show the staff apparently, until weeks after her admittance. They found that the injuries to her arms were probably defensive. But he had changed address, or the original was false, and the phone number was also a dead end. They aren't even certain that his name was Marv. Mom refused to accuse him so they couldn't press charges, and there wasn't enough evidence to step in anyway.” Castiel looked away, wondering how the stone cold, absent, disinterested man he had known could have done such things to his wife and children.

“The bruising to her belly had resulted, they concluded, from a massive punch to her stomach. It caused damage to the foetus. To me. It meant that my hearing never developed properly. I was born healthily otherwise and was fostered once I had been weaned. I was adopted by good people when I was about eight months old. They never hid my past from me, and brought me to visit mom every six months after I turned about eighteen months old.”

Something pained within Castiel suddenly loosened. Knowing that Eileen had at least had some semblance of a normal, happy childhood soothed him. 

“As mom got older, her mental issues got worse, and she refused to move from her room. Her mobility became worse and worse. Eventually she got a regular winter cold, but because she was so weak by then, it quickly became pneumonia. She died in her sleep.” Castiel didn't know how to react. He was glad he suffering had not continued, and terribly sad that she had had to suffer at all. He only slightly remembered her. More a feeling than true memories. Warmth, the smell of her perfume, comfort and love.

“She lived her life as well as she was able.” 

“It was only after her death, with probate and insurance looking in to things that your birth certificate came to light.” Eileen suddenly looked broken, meeting Castiel's eyes with true and deep sorrow. “She never mentioned you to me. I'm so sorry.”

In the lingering silence, Castiel just felt locked up. He had come here to find another soul who he thought he would be able to connect with, but he simply felt sorrow that their father was such a colossal asshole and that he had taken away his mother and his sister from him, as well as any chance to make normal connections with people. He deserved the alcohol induced stroke he had suffered in a snow filled gutter one winter, liver rotting in his belly, poor and alone. 

Suddenly the over-large brother-in-law he seemed to have acquired jumped about in his seat, grinning widely. Castiel couldn't fathom why he was smiling so inanely in the sombre mood he and Eileen had cast. “Well! I'm so pleased you're here though J- Castiel.” He stumbled a little over the name, all the while signing his words for Eileen simultaneously. “Welcome to the family!” Castiel flinched back as a younger, floppy haired, Winchester launched himself at the table too. “Yeah! Hi Castiel! Nice to meet you!” The young man stuck out his hand to shake, and Cas found his arm nearly yanked out of it's socket at the enthusiasm of the grip. 

He still couldn't understand why they weren't letting he and Elieen talk more and mourne their joint losses. “Harry. Sam.” Dean cut in quietly. Castiel didn't look around to see him, but both men deflated a little at the man's words. After another round of looks between the family members though, the eldest Winchester walked over more sedately. “Hi Castiel. I'm John. Nice to have you in the family.” He seemed a little less intense, and didn't offer his hand to shake, only nodded and smiled. The youngest- Harry, Dean had called him seemed unable to contain himself and rapidly swelled with excitement and words once again. “It's so awesome to have someone new! What does this make you? My brother-in-law-brother? Our family is awesome!” 

Castiel felt Dean rise to his feet behind him and heard the sleepy gurgling of the infant in his arms. Causing another weird tide of nerves to course through him. This had been a mistake. He just wanted to talk with Eileen. She was quiet, seemingly completely unaware of the growing consternation around them. “Wait! Castiel! You have to come to my and dad's birthday party week after next! It's like a second 4th of July in our house! Only bigger and better! Fireworks and a BBQ and beer! Oh man! You have to come!”

He stared in to Eileen's eyes, pleadingly. She had to understand. “Yes, you must!” burst a female voice, vapid and young. Then, tight and tense another woman's voice, deeper and older; “Yes, we'd like to see you there Castiel.” 

He looked around the table, eyes flicking wildly from face to face. 

“I- I- I can't. Work.” 

He ground the words out, hissing them, barely above a whisper. This was the worst mistake. He shouldn't have come.

He leapt to his feet, fingers already digging in his pocket for his tobacco pouch and papers, wondering how his trembling fingers would manage to roll bloody thing. 

Everything became a blur as he fled the room, nothing but a tiny flash of concerned, silent green as he bolted in to the warm afternoon air of the street encroached on his overwrought senses.


	5. Chapter 5

“For fuck's sake guys.” Dean yelled in to the stunned silence of the coffee shop. “Can't you see the poor bastard was fucking terrified and you all just piled on top of him.” He swiped his hands through his hair in agitation. “Jesus! Cas is- He wasn't kidding when he said he had some social problems! And you all just couldn't shut up and fuck off and let him talk to Eileen? Christ, Sam, even you!” 

 

Six pairs of eyes were fastened on to him unblinkingly. “Wait, you knew him. You know him already?” Sam forced out, a look of confusion wiping his face clear of the shock at Dean's outburst. 

 

Dean let loose a huge breath. “Yes. He works at that cinema I took those girls on dates to. He's really fuckin' shy, guys. Couldn't you see him fuckin' trembling and white knuckling his way through that conversation? Fuck! I mean, he just told a room full of strangers that he was basically abused as a kid and you all go yelling in his face that he needs to come to a God damned Winchester birthday party?” He turned away to leave, before one last admonishing thought needed to be voiced to his insensitive family. “It should have just been Sam and Eileen. And Sam shouldn't have opened his fuckin' mouth.” 

 

Dean shook his head and handed Robby, who was on the verge of tears with all the yelling, over to Harry. He didn't even bother to say good bye to his family, he simply walked out and followed the lingering scent of cigarette smoke still hanging in the still air. He walked for a hand full of minutes, but gave up when he saw Castiel's beautiful car speed past him, guttural roar filling the quiet street full of hurt and fear. Dean silently watched the car disappear around the bend cursing his family for causing the man, about who he still knew so little, any pain whatsoever. 

 

Dean slumped in defeat. He wondered what he would have even said to the guy if he had caught him before he'd got to his car. He retraced his footsteps back toward _Gabriel's_ and then further, toward his Beauty, tucked innocuously in to a side street. As he cocooned his head within the snug confines of his helmet, he realised that he didn't have any plan of what he would say to Cas, simply that he wanted to see him again, to reassure him, to let him know that he, at least, was happy for him to take things at his own pace. He realised that he just wanted to grab the guy and hug him, let him know without words, that he was okay. That he was fine as he was. 

 

Dean swung his leg and seated him self on the bike, boot poised to kick the thing in to life.

 

_ He wanted to hug Castiel. _

 

“Fuck.” he whispered in to the muffled void of the helmet. 

 

Fifteen minutes later saw him blasting through the city limits, wind slapping at his bare arms, a dust cloud thrown up behind him as he revelled in the silence of thought that riding his Beauty brought him.

 

He crested one of the hills that surrounded the city and slowed. He pulled up on the side of the road and removed his helmet, surveying the city, sun light catching on numerous windows, an almost unmoving pillar of smoke rising from the industrial quarter. Finally stationary, the reverberations of his bike gone from his body, his thoughts took off at a hundred miles an hour. Yet, only one clear concept arose, only one realisation that he could hold on to.

 

He  _liked_ Castiel. 

 

He liked his rudeness, he liked the way he looked surprised every time he said something slightly daring, he liked how he had turned up out of the blue to check that he was okay, he liked how brave he was, he liked how quiet he was, he liked how accepting he seemed to be. 

 

“Fuck.” He whispered again, this time the word being swallowed by the chirping of the crickets in the long grass of the verge. 

 

His mind flashed back to another hillside, and another view of the city. Closer, night time, with explosions and fireworks and lightning filling the sky. To the calm and awed presence beside him that night. He thought of the toned body he had spied briefly beneath the swathes of tattoos, the silver bar in his navel. The soaked and plastered hair framing his earnest blue eyes and pierced features. 

 

Dean groaned and rubbed his hand through his sweaty hair. “How am I only now realising he's hot?” He asked the vista before him. “ Oh shit,” he griped as another though struck him. “I'm never, ever going to live this down if I ask him on a date now, not after all those 'I'm happy single' statements.” He dropped his head back on his shoulders to look up at the cloudless sky. 

 

He snorted as he turned back to his bike, thinking that it would be a miracle if Castiel wanted to see him ever again after the débâcle that the meeting with Eileen had been. He had to do some damage control, not for himself, but for Eileen and Cas, but how to achieve it with someone as uncomfortable with interaction as Cas was? 

 

He got back astride Beauty, happy to allow the motion of her ride to lull his thoughts once more. 

 

He smiled gently as a plan began to form.

 

-

 

“Thank you.” Castiel nodded at the couple were wearing matching Pulp Fiction t-shirts, and watched them file in to the theatre. They were the first to arrive that evening, and Castiel took the opportunity to roll a cigarette while he waited for his other Wednesday night regulars. 

 

He eyed his nearly empty pouch of tobacco and sighed. He hadn't smoked this much since he had picked up the habit as a teenager, homeless, utterly miserable and distraught, nothing to his name but a pair of stolen DM's and an illegal pot washing job. He put the paraphernalia back in to his pocket, reasoning one would have to be enough before he got home at about eleven. 

 

He was about to duck around the counter to sit atop his bench outside and light up, when he heard the kicking of the sparse gravel littering the tarmac in the parking lot. He sighed and tucked the rollie behind his ear, schooling his features back in to his polite mask. 

 

Castiel nearly had a heart attack when in walked Dean Winchester, followed by another man, a complete stranger to Cas. The sight before him made him freeze, too many thoughts and emotions flowing through his mind. 

 

On one hand he was still furious, with both himself and the entire Winchester family. He had wanted and expected to meet Eileen, yet he had barely been allowed five minutes to talk to her. Those had been five of the most painful minutes he had had to live through since leaving university. The Winchester clan had butted in and refused to allow him and his sister to talk, to commiserate together. For once in his life he had wanted to talk to someone, desperately needed to, to share their joint history, to share their lives, but instead, he had had to endure squealing and yelling and too many faces and too many words. 

 

Now, he was happy to see Dean, to find that his rude exit hadn't scared him off, but upset that he was here, that the man couldn't simply leave him alone. That their family couldn’t leave him alone. Yet he was pleased that he wasn't being left either. 

 

His breath caught in his chest as the swirling thoughts and contradictions filled him. 

 

He eyed the man standing behind Dean, looking interestedly around him. Was Dean on another date? Had he found someone he liked? Was this man his own choice? He certainly looked happier in this person's company that he had with any of the women. Simultaneously a stab of pain lanced his chest as he felt his stomach sink to somewhere approximating his knees.

 

He took a deep breath and banished all his thoughts. He had a job to do. He reminded himself of Charlie's exercises and counted his breath in and out before smiling what probably looked more like a rictus and allowing Dean and his date to approach the counter. 

 

“Heya Cas.” Dean greeted, a small smile on his face. “How ya doin'?” He asked, eyes honest and open in their emotion, that much Cas could tell, despite their still puffy, yellow-green bruised state. “Fine. Thank you, Dean.” He gritted out, eyes flicking to the man still standing behind Dean, now taking in the home made posters covering the door in to the theatre itself. 

 

Dean smiled and noted his gaze. “Oh, that's Benny.” He half-explained warmly, “Can we get two tickets please?”

 

Castiel just nodded

 

-

 

Dean smirked to himself as he sat in the darkened cinema. Benny was looking around himself with a half smile, muttering compliments about the place, exclaiming that he was surprised he had never stumbled across the place himself. Dean nodded along, glad to be spending time with his friend. It was the first time they had hung out properly since the awful schedule of dates his mother and siblings had set up for him. He had missed Benny. 

 

He was proud of himself for bringing him here though. Seeing Cas again had sent a fierce stab of nervous elation down this spine, and initially he had cursed himself for it. But, then he had decided to roll with it. Family be damned. He liked the guy, so sue him. He was pleased that Castiel seemed to be mostly okay though. He had been worried the guy would have taken the awful behaviour of his family to heart, but the evidence of his being at work proved that he was fine up to a degree. 

 

His plan was going well so far. He simply wanted to see Castiel and gauge his own feelings for the man. _That_ he had checked off his internal list. Second had been to ensure he was all right. That too was crossed off. Third was to try and convince Cas that Dean wasn't a bad guy, and had had no hand in the ridiculous display of attempted tension dispelling his family had executed at _Gabriel's_ the previous week. And fourth, he wanted to sow a seed of doubt within Cas about his family. He desperately wanted him and Eileen to try again, this time without Sam or Harry's terrible attempts at joviality. _Christ,_ he thought, _why couldn't they have just let Cas and Eileen talk? It was none of their business, we we're all meant to sit back and let them talk._

 

He sighed, blaming himself for keeping as quiet as he did. But, already knowing Castiel, even a little bit, he had been worried of being too overbearing. Even when chastising his entire family who were being- yup! Overbearing. 

 

_ Damn them. _

 

“Hey brother.” Benny began in a whisper, staring vacantly at the black screen while they waiting for the movie to begin. “Firstly, this place needs popcorn.” Dean bristled, not liking his friend disparaging Castiel's cinema. “But, that aside we should get Garth and Jo here. This place is nice.” He nodded in the dark, a smile on his face, and Dean relaxed again, feeling strangely proud of the place. “Jo dragged me along to one of her work things last week.” Benny started again, seemingly apropos of nothing. “Introduced me to one of her colleagues. Some girl called Dorothy, ain't she your gay cousin?” Dean spluttered in confusion. “Gay cousin?” Benny laughed softly. “Yeah” he drawled, “you were talking about it the other week, remember?”

 

Dean thought back and recalled him bitching about his mom's friend's disapproval of her own niece. “Er, more like friend of a friend of a friend I guess. I've never met her.” 

 

Benny shrugged. “She's nice. I think you'd get along. Her and Jo were a formidable force together at bowling I'll tell ya that much.” Dean laughed. That was saying  something. Benny prided himself on his bowling skills. The only person who ever challenged him at the game was Jo. “Alright, well, we can sort a night out maybe?” He pondered as the screen flickered to life. “Oh, shit. Let's get Jo to invite Dorothy to Harry and dad's birthday, that'd be awesome. Mama Winchester will have to face her demons then!” He crowed quietly in delight, leaning in to Benny, laughing quietly as the first adverts filled the screen and the door at the back clicked quietly shut. He had told his friend of the entire Mary incident. Benny had been sympathetic, but resolute and had promised help and support, to his friend and his friends mom. Benny smiled  answered in the affirmative as he knocked his shoulder against Dean's, shifting in his seat so that he could take in the screen comfortably.

 

-

 

Castiel watched Dean and Benny enter the theatre. He needed that damned cigarette. 

 

Quietly he slipped from the building and lit up whist leaning against the wall, forgoing the short walk to the bench. He dragged in a breath through the rollie, making the small ember glow a bright orange-red. He held the breath, trying to calm his thoughts before blowing the stream of smoke out in to the warm air. 

 

The oppressive heat of the early part of summer had passed, and Castiel was grateful. The evening was pleasant, warm, but with a fresh breeze, ruffling his hair and cooling his skin.

 

He pulled in another breath of smoke, relaxing slightly.

 

He inspected the tendrils of tattoos on his forearms as he exhaled, the hot smoke passing his lips. He tried to organise his thoughts and feelings that Dean's entrance had kicked up. He realised that although he was angry he was not resentful. The onslaught of Winchesters had been too much for him, but the two people who really counted to him had not upset him. He did not wish to meet the rest of the Winchester clan in any kind of hurry, but Eileen? He would not be sorry to see her again if left in peace. And Dean? He found that he had no dislike for Dean, he still found his presence more appealing than many people he had met. He was pleased Dean held no grudge against him, in fact, he felt a slight warmth in his chest at the thought that Dean had come here. He didn't recognise that the pleased feeling soured the moment he tried to be happy that Dean seemed comfortable enough to being a date with him once again.

 

With a  Castiel spied his other four regulars, the girls walking quickly over the brow of the hill and the last couple slipping out of their car. He sighed and dropped the stub of his cigarette,  letting the still burning end spew smoke in a blue-grey trail along the ground. He stomped back  inside and  around to his side of the counter and caught the ghost of a laugh from within the cinema. Castiel scowled, and for what, he wasn't sure, but he quickly rearranged his features to greet his customers.

 

He served them, quickly and silently, trying to smile a little as each face owlishly watched him. With all his customers of the evening ensconced within the theatre, Castiel flicked the switch on the projector and slipped quietly in to the darkened room and sat at the back like he did every week for every viewing. 

 

Unlike every week though, Dean Winchester was sitting only two rows in front of him, turned toward the other man, a wide and open smile covering his face as his eyes scrunched up in laughter. Castiel watched as Dean leant in to Benny, bumping shoulders with him. 

 

Castiel knew he wasn't any good with body language, but that was unmistakable. Dean was more than comfortable in this man's presence. Cas watched as the other man bumped him back and moved so he could see the screen more comfortably. Dean, still grinning mimicked him, crossing his legs and leaning his head against the back of the seat. Castiel noted with another scowl that Dean and Benny were sitting with their bodies angled toward each other in easy familiarity. 

 

Castiel huffed in annoyance and crossed his arms across his chest and determinedly focused on the screen as the beginning credits started rolling.

 

Totally absorbed by the film twenty minutes in, Castiel ' s attention was  sharply pulled from the screen. He had forgotten about Dean and Benny, and was leant forward in his seat, staring avidly at the  flickering display , when movement in front of him dragged his attention away. He frowned in annoyance at the movement. It always irritated him when someone left to use the toilet part way through a movie. As he sat back, arms once again folded  tightly  across his chest, he watched Dean, not leave to use the facilities as he had expected, but get close to Benny, as he had that girl on the first date he had brought here  weeks ago . He whispered in his ear and Benny twisted in his seat too, almost looking back at Castiel, although he couldn't fathom why. 

 

Dean's date nodded, smiled in the light of the screen and whispered something back. Castiel sat nonplussed and pissed off as both the men then got up and filed in to the isle.

 

Castiel sat confused, bewildered and disbelieving as first Dean and then Benny filed back in to the seating, but on his row. Dean grinned in the darkness and silently lifted a hand in greeting, dropping himself into the chair next to Castiel. 

 

Cas simply turned to him, wanting to ask a hundred questions, but found it wasn't even his abhorrence of talking in the move theatre that was holding him back. His tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth once again, in complete confusion, eyes glues to the side of Dean's head. “Dude.” Dean whispered hoarsely. “The film.” He waved his hand at the screen and nodded, not taking his eyes off the sequence playing in front of them. 

 

Castiel nodded and swallowed, still wide eyed at the turn of events, and slowly turned his head back to look at the screen, not taking in a single syllable nor movement the actors were making.

 

Later he would be pissed off, angry that he had missed one of his favourite films.

 

-

 

Castiel sat on his bench outside of the cinema chain smoking. Dean and Benny had left shorlty after the film ended, Dean saying that it was nice to see him again, and that he'd be in touch soon. How Castiel didn't know, as he had not given his contact details to a single member of the Winchester family, unless he stalked him at the cinema. Which, given tonight, he thought, was entirely possible.

 

Throughout the duration of the film Castiel had found himself focused more and more on the silent man sitting on the other side of Dean. From the corner of his eye he had noted he man leaning further and further forward in his seat, taken in entirely by the movie. Dean had at one point sniggered and pushed at his chest a little to get him to sit back, but Benny had slapped his hand away with a snarl. Cas had frowned. That was not the disjointed and awkward action of a first date, nor even a new relationship. As the men had walked together across the car park, they had not held hands but had been gesticulating wildly, mimicking some of the violent scenes in the movie. Dean waving around an invisible axe and Benny laughing and pushing the slimmer man away easily. They had got in a beaten up old truck, but not until after Dean threw, what Cas hoped was a pretend, hissy hit, refusing to get in. Benny had jumped up and started the thing, raw roar filling the quiet evening, and driven off leaving Dean running behind, each time Dean got to the passenger door, the truck would leap forward another three feet or so. Once Dean was finally allowed in, he saw his silhouette punch Benny, hard, on the arm, and the other man threw up his arms in surrender, the sound of his laughter carrying to Castiel far across the asphalt. 

 

In Castiel's limited experience, that was not how people behaved when on a date. But, then, his experience was sorely limited indeed.

 

He shrugged and lit another cigarette. 

 

Despire the hot feeling in his chest at seeing him with Benny, no matter what their relationship was, Castiel decided he actually liked Dean. Castiel's continued suffering since meeting his sister's family-by-marriage had finally felt lessened as Dean had moved to sit with him in the cinema. It was pleasant to, yet again, be able to sit with him in silence, no explanation needed, no requirement to apologise for being him. In fact, Dean had actively sought him out, even while with his date/friend. Cas began to wonder if Dean was just as rare an individual as he, himself, was, but purer, cleaner, better.

 

-

 

Dean was going to be late for work. He was sat astride Beauty, parked in a lay-by halfway between his home and the garage, the sparse early morning traffic already building up. He needed to get his mind off the quiet, shy, gruff, touchy, beautiful, tattooed dude who worked in the cinema. Bobby and his dad were far too fucking canny to not notice his dazed expression for a second day running. 

 

He looked at the watch strapped to his wrist. He had almost another five minutes before Bobby would yell at him. He  reluctantly kicked his bike in to life and pushed back on to the road, cool breeze making goosebumps erupt across his bare arms.  He needed a distraction from his distraction, he decided. He was still working on the wreck of  the classic car Bobby had assigned  to him the week before. Today he had to grind away all the rust on the chassis and strip the paint work back. They were both big jobs and would take him all day, maybe longer. The trouble was that, although they required concentration, they didn't need much brain power. They were menial jobs that would leave his brain wide open to think about surprised blue eyes and Eileen's attempts to get back in touch with the man through the solicitor.

 

He sighed deeply as he pulled up on the forecourt of the garage. He grunted at Bobby as he thumped in to the kitchenette and accepted the large mug off coffee he handed him. He knew he had done the right thing, refusing to allow Sam or Harry to research the cinema Cas worked at. He was furious with himself that he had let slip where he worked, but the least he could do was try to protect the guy from any more of his family's interfering “What's up with you boy? You got a face on ya like a smacked ass.” Bobby groused. Dean jerked back in surprise, having forgotten that he was not alone. 

 

“Nothin', just got a lot on my mind.” He sighed, and tried to hide the confused expression as he thought of his evening just sitting next to his friend and Cas in the theatre, and the conflicting problems of trying to sort out the whole mess that had erupted because of the meeting with Eileen.

 

“Well, shit. Just what I need, another grumpy Winchester on my hands. Your pa's in a right ol' mood too. Go cheer each other up will ya?” 

 

“What's up pops?” Dean asked in a low voice as he entered the garage proper, already suited up and ready to get going. “Pops? You only say that when you're tryin' to be jovial Dean. What's the problem?” Dean rolled his eyes. “Nothin'. Bobby said you were in a shitty mood.” John grunted and continued to swipe aggressively at the windscreen he was pointlessly polishing.

 

Dean just stood by his side patiently waiting for John to continue. He knew his dad too well sometimes. With a soft curse, John threw the cloth at the hood of the car and leant against it, head bowed. “Mary called. Said Sam's been on the phone to the Solicitor again this morning. Up until now, they had been reasonably open, suggesting that another meeting may be possible, but now they've said that Ja- Castiel doesn't want any contact. Eileen's really broken up about it. She had been trying to get them to issue an invite to my birthday thing next week, but now they're practically refusing to even talk to us.”

 

John  turned aroun d slowly and leant his hips against the car, arms folded across his chest. “I know you're pissed at us for all getting a bit over the top at the cafe. Sam and Harry only wanted to relax the atmosphere. They made a snap decision, thinking it would help everyone get along if it things were a bit more cheery. You know this Dean, we've all talked about it. We got it all wrong, I get that, but we all still want Castiel as a part of the family, even if he is a bit… odd.”

 

Dean, certain feelings rising to the top of he thought process, snapped. “He's not odd dad. Fuck, he's just quiet. Doesn't do well with loads of people all yelling in his face! Clearly! You scared the poor guy dad!”

 

John looked down at his boots, guilt written plainly over his face. “I know, I know. I guess, even without the details, I can guess what kinda upbringing he had, so I guess it's not surprising that he behaves that way. But Dean!” He exploded, throwing his hands in the air. “We only want to fucking apologise and invite him to a family gathering! Everyone'll be there!” 

 

“Yeah. Dad. What part of 'doesn't do well in social situations' are you lot not getting?” He was pissed. He didn't want to subject Castiel to any more of the Winchester-plus-extended-family clan. But, he had to admit to himself, it seemed the shortest, quickest and least painful way of getting everything dealt with. If it was handled well, if Cas agreed, he and Eileen could talk. Which was all Dean really wanted for them. Yes, he admitted to himself, he might, sort of, kind of like the guy, but he wouldn't push it. He still stood by the fact that he liked his life as it was. And were it not for a tattooed bomb shell going off in the middle of his family, he wouldn't even be thinking any different. 

 

W ith a plummeting feeling, Dean suddenly realised, that for all the feelings he was developing for the man, Castiel had not shown even the slightest interest in him. 

 

John cut across his suddenly spiralling thoughts. “Can't you talk to him?” Dean rolled his eyes. “We'll see dad.” He answered, not knowing what he wanted to do. He didn't want to hound the man to come to a situation that he definitely wouldn't enjoy, but he did what him and Eileen to get some closure, He also wanted to see the guy, but now he didn't want to put his company upon him having realised that Cas barely treated him as a friend, despite their two evenings of film watching.

 

He gently thumped the top of the car out of frustration and to  put the end  to the conversation. He was done with this. He needed his headphones and his angle grinder and then a large measure of whiskey  in his favourite arm chair  and a very hot, very deep bath.

 

-

 

Dean didn't get his whiskey, nor his armchair, nor his bath. John received a phone call from Mary, announcing yet another family meeting. Bobby groused that, “for all you lot call me family, you sure leave me outta a whole lotta family crap.” Dean had to agree.

 

Harry was sulking in the corner when they first walked through the front door to his parents home. Everyone else was sat staring at the youngest Winchester, unimpressed expressions adorning their faces. Eileen looked furious. Sam had the kind of bitch face on that made it look as if someone had put a dog turd under his nose.

 

Dean sighed. What the hell had happened now? Dean was surprised when Mary stood up abruptly, face angry and upset. “I'm sorry everyone, for pulling you here yet again, but this is easier than calling everyone individually. You are simply here to be informed that, thanks to dearest Harry there, we will not be hearing from Jame-, damn, Castiel again.” Millie, John and Dean looked at Harry too, waiting for Mary to continue. They had been made aware that Cas had decided to refuse all contact since that morning, but it had seemed a far off problem. Now, looking at Harry's guilty face, Dean wondered how severe Cas' turn around actually was. He had seemed fine, if tense, on Wednesday night when he had seen him at the cinema with Benny. Now, with Harry involved, and only two days later, everything had changed.

 

“Harry- What did you d-” Dean began, but was cut off with John's growled out “Harry...”

 

“Since we had all deferred to Dean's superior knowledge of the man, and agreed not to harass him at his work, to not even google the place, it was a bit of a shock to me, at lunch time today, when Harry admitted, after I'd told him the bad news about Castiel's cutting us all out, that he had gone to this man's work place on Thursday night and pestered him about coming to his God damned birthday party. Which! I am sorely temped to cancel now, in light of your spectacular error in judgement Harry. What the hell were you thinking?” Mary exploded, fury written all over her face.

 

Everyone, John included, stared at Mary with their jaws on the floor. Since having had her small minded flaws pointed out to her, Mary seemed to have become determined to allow no one elses faults to go unchallenged either. She sometimes took it too far, Dean thought. 

 

“I only wanted to invite him to go on Wednesday, to meet us all again, our birthday party will be just the thing! It'll be good for him to go if he's going to be a part of the family!”

 

“But he isn't going to be a part of the family now is he, Harry?” Dean snapped, and at that statement, he felt his insides turn to lead. He wanted so badly, almost more than Eileen, potentially, for that man to be a permanent feature in their lives, and now his brother, his blood, had probably ruined that chance, in all likely hood his only chance, with the shy, socially inept, broken man. How could Harry even think, after the tale Cas had told that day, that Cas just needed to the jollied along, and everything would be ok. What the hell was wrong with him? “What the hell is wrong with you? Can't you see that pestering _him_ , of all people, is only going to make it worse, make him hide more, make him even shyer of talking to people? Just because you have the ego and self awareness of a hippopotamus doesn't mean everyone does!” Dean threw his hands in the air and paced the living room, feeling his eyes burn in frustration. 

 

“But-”

 

“No! Harry. No buts. I told you not to even go looking, just because I accidentally let slip where he works, and you went anyway, and now you may very well have ruined everything for m- us, for Eileen.” He bit his lip at his slip, and hoped no one noticed. “He has a horrific past, so much worse than any one of us knew. I know next to nothing about the guy, but it was plain to see that you all, all of you, diving in there, begging him to be a Winchester was too fucking much!” He let out a deep breath in frustration. “With that history, and there must be so much more he's never told, we should have got the hell out of there, and left him to fucking talk it out with his God damned sister!”

 

“None of that was any of our business, and, because we're a load of busybodies, we decided it was our right to sit in there and listen and then to run all over the moment like bulls in a china shop and try and 'break the tension' and 'lighten the mood' when actually, I think, Eileen and Cas could have done with five fucking minutes alone to have the bleakest, darkest conversation together, because that was theirs, and theirs alone. Not ours. He's a- Shit! We don't even know his last name! And Eileen's a Leahy. Just because she married Sam does not give us the right to own her entire family!” 

 

Outwardly he was ranting, he couldn't stop himself now. His poor brother looked in the verge of tears with the beginnings of recognition for what he may have done, but he couldn't hold back, because on the inside, there was a simple chant going on in side his head. _'Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, I didn't realise how much I wanted to be able to make Castiel smile again and tell me off for not liking his stupid films, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.'_

 

He broke off his shouting, but he needed to know one thing before he walked out that door and away from the family that may have taken from him the only person, body and soul, that he had been attracted to since before he had been with the train wreck that was Amara.

 

He turned to Harry once more, voice quiet and low.

 

“Why? I mean, you didn't care.”

 

Harry hung his head, rubbing at his face furiously. “He looked like he would belong.” He answered in a cracked voice, full of shame and hurt. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're all enjoying this!. My [tumblr](http://anonymousantonym.tumblr.com/). Come and say hello :)


	6. Chapter 6

It was Saturday, a full twenty-four hours after Dean's out burst at his youngest brother. He had called him that morning to apologise for shouting him down so horribly in front of the entire family. Harry had mumbled his acceptance, and given a whole hearted apology in return, stating that he was a thoughtless child and completely deserved the telling off. Dean, nonetheless, had promised him that his party on Wednesday would be awesome. Harry had cheered up a little, having half expected Mary to carry out her threat and cancel the whole thing.

Dean had grabbed Sam and bought even more fireworks than normal, and spoken to Ellen at the Roadhouse bar, and arranged to have a keg delivered. They had invited her along with a good ten or fifteen extra people. He wanted this year's celebration to be better than ever. Although neither Harry's, nor John's birthdays were auspicious this year, he and Sam had decided that they all needed the distraction. 

Alone again, Dean was sat over looking the city from the hillside vantage point of the bench by the Hole In The Wall cinema. It was mid-afternoon and the place was shut. He wasn't here to stalk Cas, or even to see him, but he wanted to be close to the thought of him. He didn't know where the man lived, or what he did when he wasn't at the cinema. He only know that he had some seriously bad-assed ink, piercings all over the place, he occasionally wore eye liner, liked black clothes and had a nice car. He didn't know his last name, he couldn't tell you many of his likes or dislikes beyond what they had shared at his own apartment that night, what felt like an age ago.

But Dean knew that he liked him. And, although he was happy single, he still enjoyed his life exactly as it was, he couldn't help but think that his life might be enhanced by the other man's presence. When ever he had contemplated seeing someone, since leaving Amara, all he had pictured was his life being turned upside-down once more. Not being allowed to go where he pleased, or to see who he wanted. He had only thought that he would be able to cook what his partner desired or wear the kind of clothes they liked. He imagined being told that his work wasn't good enough, that living in his home town near all his family wasn't good enough, that he wasn't good enough.

He had not pictured this 'someone' being like Amara, not in deed, but all he could see when he thought of a partner, was restriction, even if it was intentioned. 

When he looked at Cas?

He saw freedom.

And smiles, and stupidity and silliness, bike and car rides, cooking together, fighting over bad films, maybe listening to music or being dragged around tattoo parlours for new jewellery.

His lip ticked up at the thought. 

But he had to fix this situation first, and he simply couldn't work out how. Castiel was in the wind, essentially, to the rest of his family. It seemed that only he could probably approach him, and yet what if Castiel's presentment that he wanted nothing to do with them any more, included him. Maybe Harry really had screwed things up for him. 

Dean scowled at him self. Despite his wistful thoughts, it was Eileen he ought to be considering in all this. They were siblings; they needed to talk. They needed to discover who they were, who their parents had been. They needed to learn how to have a brother, a sister. And, Dean believed Castiel needed it far more than Eillen. 

So, for the both of them, he had to find a way to get Cas to change his mind and at least meet Eileen again. 

He knew she would do what ever was asked of her to enable another meeting. They had exchanged texts since the day before, while he and Sam had been shopping that morning, and the previous night while Dean had angrily nursed a single, large, measure of his favourite whisky, the one he kept hidden under his sink. 

But he honesty didn't know whether his plan would work, simply because much of Castiel was a complete enigma. 

He sighed, slipping off the bench, view forgotten within the swirl of his thoughts. He mounted Beauty once again revelling in the sturdy feel of her, the warm smell of oil on metal, and kicked her in to life. 

Dean needed time and space to think.

He needed to ride.

-

It was Wednesday. Dean wasn't at work. In fact, the garage was the whole day, and, due to years of experience, the next day too.

Dean was at home, curled up on his favourite arm chair, gripping his mug of coffee. His guts twisted uncomfortably. It was nine thirty in the morning, he had slightly less than less than nine hours to kill before he could execute his plan. 

Dean squirmed again and downed the dregs of his mug pulling a disgusted face at the now tepid liquid. Only Eileen knew of his plan, he had to put on a front for the rest of the day until then. Because to give the game away was a sure fire way to fail.

And yet, failure may come anyway.

Dean squirmed again.

-

It was mid-afternoon by the time the Winchester clan had everything all but set up. Dean had spent most of the morning building the huge bonfire from fallen logs and branches that their entire extended family collected and stored throughout the year, saving it all just for this date. Sam had filled both their parents fridges with beer and wine. The kitchen table was groaning under the weight of chips and salad, dip and rolls. The BBQ was ready, waiting to be lit at the first hint of dusk, and John had been precise in setting up the fireworks at the very end of their garden. A pile of steak and sausages, dishes of glazed chicken, foil wrapped fish and stuffed peppers were sitting on ice in the garage, ready to be taken to the BBQ when the time came and platoons of glasses, plates and cutlery were lined up next to the huge bucket, waiting to be filled with more ice that evening, the stuff already set aside in the local store's freezers, to chill even more bottles and cans. 

They were nearly set. 

Mary walked amongst everyone handing out simple slices of quiche on paper plates, just to keep them going until the evening came. Dean refused a beer when Harry strolled out in to the sun clutching the bottles by the neck.

Dean needed to stay sober, he still had four hours to kill until his plan could be begun.

Another hour was spent stringing up fairy lights and bunting from the back porch with Sam. Then Millie made him pull out the fold away tables from the shed and dress them with plastic table cloths. Lastly, Mary coerced him in to helping her make up beds in the spare rooms, on the sofa, and on camp beds in every corner of the house. 

By the time six rolled around Dean was exhausted. He slipped away on Beauty, needing to shower and get dressed in to something less sweaty. His stomach was jumping with nerves, but he doused his own feelings, thinking of Eileen and the room that Dean had stolen the key for after making the beds.

Once inside, Dean shot off a text to the newest of his acquaintance, confirming that he was still available that evening. Just as Dean dropped all his clothes in a damp heap in his laundry hamper he got a reply in the affirmative and Dean smiled, knowing that, as least that aspect of his plan was falling in to place. 

Dean took his time in his shower. He would have done so anyway, this being the biggest family gathering that the Winchesters-plus held all year, but his covert mission made him want to try even harder. 

He dried himself off, and threw on his favourite jeans. They were ripped at the knee, he knew he looked good in them and they were comfortable. A dark green button up shirt went on over a plain black t-shirt, rolled up to his elbows. He put a touch of wax in his hair, used his expensive cologne, despite knowing he'd smell like a bonfire and searing meat within half an hour of joining the gathering. He pulled on his boots, and retrieved his jacket, knowing he would be up until the early hours of the morning and, despite the summer weather lingering, the nights were already getting cool. 

Wallet and phone went in his pockets. Helmet and keys in his hand. He strung the second helmet, visor open, on to his arm and slammed his front door behind him.

Back out on the road, the sky was just turning a translucent purple at the horizon, and Dean couldn't help but picture his quarry sitting on the bench admiring the view from far above the city, a trail of blue-grey smoke rising up into the air from his lips.

Dean shook his head as he sped along the road toward the cinema on the hill. He shouldn't think like that. He would have to beg Castiel to join him this evening. He would need to convince the man that this was something he should and could do. It wouldn't be easy, and him fawning all over his bitten lips and awkward gaze would not help matters. He scowled a little within his helmet and tried to school his thoughts. He needed to concentrate, especially while riding with the spare helmet threaded upon his arm. His balance was thrown, and with no aerodynamics, and he didn't want Castiel to see him with yet another inappropriate injury. His black eye and bruised nose were only just gone as it was.

He snorted as his bike started the incline, wondering what an appropriate injury would be when it came to the taciturn man and his beautiful, frightened scowling gaze.

Dean pulled up in a cloud of dust on the gravelly tarmac of the cinema's car park. It had just gone seven and Ash had promised him that he and Castiel usually needed to be in work an hour before the showing to set the place up. Dean nervously patted himself down, checking he hadn't lost his wallet or phone on the ride, ensuring that he wasn't covered in too much road dust. He realised with disgust that he was dithering and scowled at himself. This was not how Dean Winchester behaved. 

He threw his shoulders back and marched toward the defiantly closed front door of the cinema and knocked loudly. He couldn't help but shift uncomfortably while he waited for Castiel to open the main doors, but he plastered an easy smile on his face.

Which fell instantly as a wild eyed face peeked out from the between the two halves of the door, all light brown scraggy beard and unkempt hair. “You're not Cas.” Was the first thing that popped in to Dean's head.

“No.” The man answered and continued to stare.

“Uh. He's not working tonight? I kinda need to talk to him.” The man looked slightly sorrowful and confused at the same time. “No. He's called in sick all week.”

Just then the sickly sound of a van in trouble made itself known to Dean and the man still half hidden behind the doors. “Ash?” He asked, despite the van still moving lurchingly across the car park, at the same time that Dean swore, hearing about Cas being sick. 

“Never fear me amigos! I'm here to save the day.” Ash announced, his torn plaid shirt waving in the slight breeze as he walked toward Dean. “Oh, hey Chuck.” He greeted the man within the cinema and Dean turned to eye the man. “What're you doin' here?” Ash asked Chuck, slapping Dean on the back as he planted his feet next to him.

Chuck squinted at them both, frowning. “Castiel is sick...” 

“Shit man!” Ash exclaimed and turned to Dean. “What's the plan now maestro?” Dean shrugged, feeling the last vestiges of coolness slip from him. His plan had failed before he had even had the chance to talk to Cas. 

Ash, despite having only met Dean for the first time the previous Friday night at the cinema, had fast become someone that Dean would call a friend. They had exchanged phone numbers and talked regularly since Ash had agreed to cover Cas' shift on the Wednesday night, the night of the party, if Cas agreed to go, simply in exchange for a crate of beer, which Dean had promised to deliver the next time he could borrow John's Impala. 

Ash eyed him, more perceptive than Dean had given him credit for. “Gimmie your phone.” Dean, his thoughts rushing, handed it across silently. “That, my friend, is Castiel's address. He waved a map in Dean's face, and Dean forced his eyes of focus on the screen. 

Dean heard Ash announcing “nothing to see here boss-man, see ya friday,” before waving in Dean's face again, this time in goodbye, before starting toward his dying van. Dean snapped out of it and jerked back, realising what was going on. “Wait! Ash!” 

“Yeah?” The man called over his shoulder. “Thanks, for everything y'know. Wanna take that payment in beer tonight at my family thing?”

At this Ash turned around and raised an eyebrow. “Sure.” He nodded, “See you later.” 

Dean yelled his address at the retreating back of his mullet wearing friend, who just raised an arm, fist bunched, in acknowledgement. He returned to the map on his phone, double checking that he knew the route he had to take. 

Once again seated on Beauty he sailed through quiet streets, mind mercifully blank. It seemed mere moments before he was climbing the stairs to Castiel's apartment, clammy palms running repeatedly across his thighs as he breathed deep trying to calm himself.

The building was small and it took too little time before he was standing outside of Castiel's apartment, door shut fast and ominous in the silence coming from within. 

He hammered on the door three times.

It took three seconds for a response.

“Fuck off.” Came the shouted words from within.

Dean couldn't help but grin, his nervousness suddenly dispelled in the unequivocal Cas-ness of the response.

“Nope!” He yelled back and thumped his fist on the door another three times. 

The vision that greeted him as the door opened slowly made his heart stop.

Wearing yellow and black stripy sleep pants, a black sleeveless t-shirt and a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, a pen behind his ear and his hair pushed in every possible direction and the biggest scowl cutting his features, Castiel was beautiful.

“Er. Hi!” Dean said brightly, his heart failing to begin beating in any regular manner within his chest.

Castiel stood on the threshold to his apartment in silence for what felt like an aeon, his face entirely still, the cigarette smouldering down with out a breath being pulled through it. Dean's genuine smile at seeing this man before him faltered and fell at Castiel's continued silence.

Finally, finally, he moved his hand from the door frame, took a drag of his cigarette and removed it from his mouth, using it to gesture Dean within, turning and walking within himself, before Dean could take a step. Dean followed the man in to his apartment, his head in the cloud of Castiel's exhaled smoke. 

Castiel spun on the spot in what appeared to be his lounge-come-office, cigarette back between his lips and arms folded defensively across his chest. “Not going.” He mumbled, blowing out smoke as he spoke, eyes down cast. 

“Well,” Dean began, winging it from the moment he got in the door. “I'll be honest, I'm not gonna hold back from guilt tripping and bribing you in to coming, but I did just kinda wanna see how you were doin'. Hearing that you didn't wanna try again with Eileeen 'cause of Harry made me a bit worried about ya man. Plus, I was a little worried that you really were sick.” He didn't need to affect an expression of guilty innocence and concern, it was the genuine expression plastered across his face.

He saw with relief the corner of Cas' mouth tick up ever so slightly. The frown ease a tiny bit.

Castiel removed the half smoked cigarette from his mouth and eyed the glowing end as if it were the most interesting of things as he exhaled the smoke in twin streams through his nose. Dean wished he didn't find it attractive. “Bribe first.” Castiel stated, finally looking up and catching Dean's eye with the merest hint of amusement in his rough voice, his free hand wrapped around his torso, the one holding the cigarette propped by the elbow against the other. Dean had to stop him self from taking a step toward the man.

“Well, I'll let you ride with me on Beauty.” He smirked at Castiel's confused frown. “You're not the only one with a nice ride, dude.” He said through a smile. Cas snorted out a fresh breath of smoke, making Dean aware of just how hazy the atmosphere in the room really was. “Ride there and back, or a taxi, paid, if I end up drinkin'. Private room where you can talk to Eileen as long as you wish. Total privacy, no one else will know you're there. If you want to stay after your talk, there's food and beer and fireworks and a bonfire-”

“I know. Your brother informed me.” Cas scowled deeply again, clearly unimpressed. “Yeah, but he didn't offer you all that with the option of watching from your own private viewing platform, out of sight of everyone else!” Dean smiled brittlely, knowing it wasn't much of a bribe. Why would he want to watch someone else's party from afar? 

“I just want to give you and Eileen the chance to talk, and I wouldn't mind hanging out either ya know?” He hurried on as it seemed that Castiel didn't, in fact, know. “I can take you back any time you want to escape.”

“This the guilt tripping part?” Castiel asked, crushing the end of his spent cigarette in an almost overflowing dish by a computer, the flickering screen showing hundreds of densely packed lines of text that Dean couldn't identify. “Kinda?” He half asked, hopefully, a quirk to his own lip. He couldn't tell if he was making any head way at all. Castiel remained stoic and silent as he stared back at Dean.

“No one will interrupt?” Castiel asked, expression dark. “Nope!” He answered, hope flaring in his gut. “Not even you?” 

Dean laughed out loud, tension dropping from his shoulders. “Hell no! That shit's up to you man. Tell me stuff if you want, but I don't have any right to know.” He smiled, the honesty pouring from him.

Castiel ducked his head, staring at his bare feet before huffing out a breath and walking away from Dean without a word. Dean slumped, wondering if this was refusal. 

Another instance of Cas being inarguably Cas as far as Dean could tell.

In the quiet, now that he wasn't half pleading with the man now secreted away in another room of his apartment, Dean could hear the tinny noise of music pouring from a huge pair of head phones propped on the desk. It was fast, loud, and angry, but nothing that Dean had heard before. On the screen, was indeed line upon line of what he assumed was code. He marvelled once more at just how little he knew of this man. He peered out the window which lead to a fire escape. There was a bucket wired to the outside of the metal staircase. Dean could just see cigarette butts sitting within it from the angle he was at. He assumed Castiel usually hung out of the window to smoke, or sat on the sill. Which would explain why the ceiling wasn't brown-grey with the smoke. He shrugged, the man was an enigma, one he sorely wanted to learn more of.

In the corner he noticed a book case, there were some fiction books, mixed liberally with non-fiction and reference books for various types of coding, although many of them had dust sitting atop the pages. There were more plants on the shelves than books. The lounge looked un-lived in, the kitchen, he could see through the open door way seemed to have a well used coffee machine, but that was about it. The only area that looked used was the area around the desk, covered in note books and lumps of computer that left Dean bewildered.

“I'm a programmer.” Came Castiel's voice from directly behind him, making him jump. Dean spun around on the spot and stopped dead. 

Cas was still wearing the sleeveless shirt, showing off his muscled arms, but now wore threadbare blue jeans and heavy looking boots. He held a black leather jacket in one hand, and a phone, keys and some scrunched up notes and coins in the other. He frowned at Dean's slack jawed expression. “What?” he asked in an exhalation of minty breath. Dean nearly swayed even further in to his personal space. Or was Castiel in his? He couldn't tell any more. “Um.” He said in a slightly higher pitched voice than usual. He coughed and Cas frowned even further, eyeing Dean strangely. Shit, pull it together, he chastised himself.

“Excuse me.” Castiel practically growled, this close to. Dean jerked out of his way and allowed Cas to pick up his tobacco and turn off his music, putting the computer in to sleep.

“Coming?” Castiel asked, as if the excursion was his idea, that Dean hadn't barged his way in to his life, his home, and demanded that he come and talk to his long lost sister, at her in-laws house, at a ridiculously large joint birthday party, for two people he hardly knew from Adam. Dean couldn't believe his life sometimes. “Yeah.” He breathed out.

Once outside and back in the tiny parking lot, Dean watched Cas scanning the space as he shot off a text to Eileen. He could see Cas' car parked carefully in the corner against the building, but all the other vehicles were modern monstrosities. He could see Cas' forehead pucker in what almost looked like anger. “Beauty?” Castiel asked, a little sarcasm, a little confusion in his voice and he liften an eyebrow. Dean grinned and jerked his head toward the road where he had parked, not realising there was a private car park as he had pulled up. Dean's heart swelled up in joy as he watched Castiel's frown disappear and morph in to a boyish grin, all gums and crinkly eyes. Dean nearly melted. “Beauty?” Cas asked again, this time asking confirmation, the excitement palpable in his voice. 

Dean simply nodded, dumbfounded. Castiel stamped over to his bike in four short strides and caressed her shining black body, the grin never leaving his face. Dean only just caught the whispered word, “beauty” as if in greeting, carrying softy in the still air.

Dean had only had someone pillion on the back of his bike a handful of times before. It was a nerve wracking experience but worth it to feel Castiel's strong arms wrapped around his waist, his firm body pressed against his own. Thoughts out of the gutter Winchester, he reminded himself. He was taking him to the party for Cas' sake, and Eileen's, not so he could drool the night away.

He shivered as Cas wrapped himself around him nonetheless, closing his eyes at the sensation and suppressing a groan as he smiled within the security of his helmet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we're nearly there...
> 
> Pondering time stamps though, if anyone wants to read more once it's done.
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://anonymousantonym.tumblr.com/)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh, because I'm a bit... of an idiot? I totally cut off the last chapter early, while I was editing, and published it before I noticed. Soooo..... This chapter is extra long instead! And a lot happens. And, it's ooooooooooover!

_ What in the actual all living, screaming and dying fuck am I doing?  _ Castiel asked himself as he swung his leg over Dean's, albeit knee-weakeningly beautiful, bike  and wrapped his arms around Dean's waist.

 

Cas had found him self regretting the way that Eileen's family had made him feel so uncomfortable, so much so that he felt unable to continue a relationship with his sister. Or Dean for that matter. But the youngest Winchester, Harry, had forced his hand, had interfered too thoroughly. Getting to know this sister that he had only just discovered, would have been nice he had decided, but not at the cost of having the rest of her family constantly pestering him. That was a level of interaction he could not cope with. It saddened him because Eileen had seemed like someone he could have actually grown to like, maybe even love, count as true family. She had seemed to have a sense of humour, but also acceptance of his ways, and Harry had torn that possibility from him, from them all.

 

Harry had come to the cinema the day after Dean and Benny's confusing appearance. Whereas Dean's entry in to the foyer of his cinema had thrown up feelings of surprise, none of that evening had been truly unpleasant, even his uncertainty about seeing Dean on, what was potentially another date. Harry, on the other hand had caused Cas to want to leave the cinema immediately, slam the door, lock up and never return. It left him pining for the silence and obscurity of the God forsaken warehouse he had squatted in for eighteen months. At least no one had bothered him there.

 

Harry had  harassed him the entire time he had been serving the Thursday night regulars;  a mix of strange and gawky arty types. He liked them, they barely spoke to him. Harry on the other hand had not stopped talking  and had  even  followed him in to the theatre where Cas had retreated  in hope of shaking him off . In the end, Castiel had walked from the theatre, followed by a  whispering , hissing Harry and told him to leave,  bluntly and rudely. He knew his face was red with  suppressed anger, he didn't usually  bite his tongue , but for his sister's sake he had wanted to try and be polite,  by that point he had all but ceased to care. He wouldn't speak with the Winchesters again, and the thought  troubled him, but only  with respect to Eileen and Dean.  He would not mourn the loss of the rest of them from his life. 

 

His attempt at chasing what other people had, regular relationships where talk was easy and silences comfortable, had backfired and burned, Cas just wanted to retreat, never to try again. He felt as if that was the end, he had tried, he was done. He clearly wasn't normal, and would be unable to pursue normal relationships. He should simply cherish Charlie, and think well of the time spent with Dean, and just let the rest go.

 

He had comforted himself that he did still have Charlie, and after emailing Eileen's solicitor with the instruction to no longer contact him, he had spent the weekend immersed in work, Charlie a constant on the other end of the chat window. 

 

When Monday had rolled around, he had found himself too in fear of finding yet another Winchester on the doorstep of the cinema, begging and pleading, so he had shot a text to Chuck telling him he was too sick to come in, and would probably be so for the rest of the week.

 

And then, two days later, Dean had knocked on his door.

 

Castiel really wasn't sure how he ended up with his arms wrapped about the man, astride his vintage motorbike, speeding toward the man's parent's house, where a full-on party was to be. He squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating on the promises of privacy and escape that Dean had made him. The smell of exhaust, leather and hot asphalt filled his senses, suddenly throwing his memories back to nights spent in the biker bar we went to when his work was done and the silence and itch under his skin became too much. 

 

He shook his head, pushing those thoughts away. Placing his arms around Dean on his bike was nothing like _those_ evenings. Blinking rapidly he conjured up the small set of memories he had amassed of his sister. He was here for her. They could finally talk. No one else would know he was there, there would be privacy, quiet. He could leave any time. Dean would either take him back or get him a taxi, although, Castiel could admit to himself, he would much prefer a second ride on Dean's bike than sitting passively in the back of an ugly car driven by someone else.

 

The sudden movement of the bike, taking a corner low and fast, broke Castiel's musings, but not before his fingers had clenched in the fabric of Dean's jacket at his waist. His stomach swooped as they straightened up and he heard Dean yell “sorry buddy!,” over the rumbling sound of the bike's engine. “S'fine” He found himself yelling in response, his mouth next to Dean's ear, but muffled by the helmets they were both wearing. It was. It wasn't the bike's motion that had made his fingers clench, but Cas couldn't articulate what it had been. Pressed this close, he could feel Dean's stomach clench slightly in response to his words, but whether a laugh, words or a snort, Cas couldn't discern. His only response was a full body shiver, hidden in the reverberations of the bike, hidden even from himself.

 

Only a few minutes later Cas frowned as Dean slowed the bike, rolling to a stop on a quiet residential street, all darkness and calm. Maybe the party was much smaller than he had been expecting. He smiled a little at the thought.

 

He shimmied off the bike and removed the helmet, running his hands through his hair to un-stick it from his head. Dean dismounted and did the same, taking the spare helmet from Cas and threading it on his arm, his hand gripping the other. “It's a few minutes walk from here. I know Beauty is essentially perfect, but she don't make for a subtle entrance.” He winked and swaggered away, leaving Cas to follow silently, his thoughts a mix of accepting that, yes, the bike was pretty good, and perfectly fitted the rider, bow legs and all, and that the rider in question had clearly put thought and effort in to ensuring that this meeting with his sister went to plan and was sympathetic to Castiel's socially inept needs.

 

As they walked along quiet streets he began to see orange-gold sparks rising in to the evening sky, the smell of wood smoke lightly tainting the air. “They've already begun. Awesome.” Dean stated with a smile and nodded toward the building, the crackling sounds of fire already meeting his ears. 

 

Castiel's nerves had been  growing steadily with  each step toward Dean's family home,  already missing the soothing motion of Beauty beneath him .  He fingered his phone in his jacket pocket, a local taxi number saved in the contacts, just in case Dean didn't keep his word, just in case he had to escape.  He could feel himself frowning more and more deeply as the y neared the property, barely noticing when Dean stopped a few feet from the grass of the front lawn. “Hey,” the man said lowly, snapping Castiel from his preoccupation. “It's okay Cas. Eileen kn o w s we're coming, she should have everyone in the back toasting my dad and Harry. And, the entrance to the yard is over there.” He nodded in the direction of the house and Cas, following his gaze, saw an open gate with large  glowing  light  bulbs on a string leading along the side of the house. He and Dean had approached from the other side of the building, where it was almost pitch black, nothing to alert anyone that they had arrived. “We should hurry and get inside though,” Dean murmured, “We couldn't think of a way to stop people showing up the same time as us, especially as we didn't know when, or if, you'd come.” He smiled shyly and indicated that Cas should  go in .

 

Castiel's chest felt warm at all the effort Dean had seemingly put in, and not a little surprised at the audacity of the scheme. The presumption that he would agree to come, or simply just the hope and the preparation just in case. But, as he _had_ agreed, he ought to be grateful.

 

Inside, the hall was dark and Dean, biting his lip slightly, rocked forward slowly and grabbed Cas' wrist. Castiel flinched at the unexpected contact, and frowned even deeper, but allowed Dean to pull his hand forward and drop something small and warm in to his palm. He looked down, and even in the dark could see it was a small silver key. Dean dropped his hand suddenly with a little step back. In the gloom Cas could see him clutch on to one bicep as the other fist clenched by his side and he jerked his head toward the staircase, shoulders tense. “Second door on the left, Cas. I'll, er, go and get Eileen for you.” Castiel frowned in confusion at Dean's actions, first holding on to his hand then dropping it as if burned.

 

Castiel shrugged it off as just another thing he couldn't comprehend, nodded in acknowledgement and turned to the stairs.

 

On impulse, before taking a step, he turned back and laid his palm on Dean's shoulder, a fluttering in his belly accompanying the action. “Thank you Dean.” He said, voice low in the quiet of the hall. He didn't understand all of the tumultuous feelings swirling in his chest and belly, but he was certainly nervous and scared. He didn't want to talk about his past with his sister, but he needed to, for himself and for her. They had a shared history, but each with only half of the tale. They deserved more than that, but if an exchange of stories was all they got, so be it, but an understanding would be better.

 

Dean nodded, cleared his throat and nodded again, shifting out from under Cas' hand, and slipping  away down the hall way.  He disappeared in to the back of the building where the glowing light of the bonfire stained the walls  a flickering eerie  gold.

 

-

 

Castiel leant heavily against the railing of the balcony, the metal digging in to his forearms, eyes squeezed shut. 

 

Eileen had left their small private haven, saying that she had to make an appearance below, but he was welcome to stay as long as he needed, until her cousin and his wife chose to retire for the night. He probably had until four or five in the morning if he wanted, she had told him. He had nodded and locked the door behind her, needing the solitude. 

 

He had thrown open the double doors leading to the wide balcony, needing air. Needing to breathe. 

 

He forced all the air from his lungs and reached for his tobacco pouch, watching the revels from the safety of his view point. The balcony was around the side of the house, but he could see much of the garden, a portion of the fire, and Eileen had assured him he would be able to see the fireworks perfectly. He could smell the more acrid aroma of the BBQ heating up atop the pleasant smell of wood smoke. He could hear laughter and talking, the clinking of bottles and the occasional whoop and sharp crack of the fire. Just within his view he could see an older woman, still vigorous, with an infectious smile, handing out beers from a keg. Dean's sister was talking with a group of other girls, and one old man, all grey hair and thick glasses, was pouring the contents of his hip flask in to his plastic cup of beer.

 

He rolled up a cigarette and was about to light up when it occurred to him that he should perhaps leave the property, not only would it be rude to smoke in someone else's home with out permission, but the easily identifiable smell would alert people to his presence, an event he could not deal with so soon after his talk with Eileen. 

 

He heaved in a sigh and bit his lip, making a decision. He hoped that he could slip from the building and back to the road without detection. True to his word, Dean had left him alone, and not another soul seemed to have discovered his presence. He didn't want to risk that now, but he needed nicotine more than he needed the isolation. 

 

Before he strayed from the room, he rubbed at his eyes, hard, once more, hoping he would just look tired if he was caught, as opposed to looking like someone who had cried almost solidly for an hour, exchanging his horrific childhood experience with Eileen's story of incomplete knowledge, of always wondering, never knowing. They had hugged, a feeling of calm piercing his chest almost painfully. Eileen had cried too, apologising over and over for Castiel's experiences. He had shook his head, and told her he was okay. He may be thirty-five, and only just learning what family and friends really meant, but he was content, and had been for some time.

 

He was simply drained, and in no mood to encounter more over-eager Winchesters.

 

The front of the house was still silent, and he drifted from the front door with no problems. Three houses down the road, on the unlit side, he hopped up on a wall and lit his cigarette, finally inhaling deeply, and relaxing the smallest amount. He tucked his knees up to his chest, his boots catching on the ledge of the low wall and hugged his legs. He rested his forehead against the ripped denim and breathed, lungs hitching as the cold night caught up with his bare arms, making him shiver. 

 

“Evenin'” A gruff voice interrupted his meditative blankness, making him jump, his feet slipped involuntarily from the wall. He nearly fell off, but a palm planted it's self to his chest and steadied him. Castiel looked up, eyes wide in the almost total darkness and took in the person leaning casually against the wall beside him, a cigar clenched between his teeth. 

 

He was older, with a scruffy baseball cap, plaid shirt and jeans. A beard softened his features and his eyes twinkled,  even in the dark . “Sorry” he smiled at Cas around the cigar. “You must be this Castiel I've heard so much about.” The old man said. Cas' eyes widened  further ,  wondering who had betrayed  his presence , Dean or Eileen. “O h shut up ya idjit,” the man said  incongruously in to the silence , taking the cigar in his left hand and extending his right. “I ain't as stupid as I look and that boy ain't  half  as clever as h e thinks he is.” He snorted, shaking his head. “Name's Bobby,  Bobby Singer .” Cas took his hand and shook it.  He could feel the confusion pinching his own features. . 

 

Bobby nodded as if he had received a satisfactory answer and leant back against the wall, holding out an engraved zippo lighter so that Cas could re-light his cigarette. “So.” Bobby began, and Cas had the sensation as if his insides congealed. “You decided to give us lot another shot huh?” He enquired, but Castiel just couldn't answer, his mouth felt like it was wired shut, the cigarette burning uselessly in his hand.

 

“They aint bad people ya know.” The gruffly spoken man continued, fondness just touching his voice. “A load of hot headed idjits, but good people.” He nodded again letting the silence flow back in like the tide.

 

Castiel unstuck and took a deep drag of his cigarette, reflecting that he appeared to have found another person who didn't take offence at his silence, specifically, and him in general. This Bobby seemed okay.

 

“Dean being good to ya?” The man seemed to ask out of no where, shocking Cas in to speech. “I-” he began, not knowing what the man meant, nor what he was meant to say in response. He took another drag, not feeling pressured to answer. “Um. Yes?” He ventured, thinking that Dean was being a good friend to him, as far as he knew. Bobby nodded knowingly, although what he knew Cas couldn't say.

 

“Well, it's been nice to meetcha boy.” Bobby grunted out, nodding at Cas. “But I got me a lady pouring some beers that I'm gonna ask out.” He paused and shot a wicked grin at Castiel through his beard and the cigar still clamped in his teeth. “Maybe this time she'll even say yes, huh?” And, with that, he disappeared in to the night.

 

-

 

Cas re-entered the room Dean had given him and Eileen, closing the door quietly behind him. He turned toward the balcony but stopped short, a dark silhouette of a man leaning against the railing, a bottle gripped loosely in his hand, surprising him to stillness. He cursed silently in his head, realising that he clearly hadn't locked the door behind himself when he had left to smoke. At the click of the door shutting, the man on the balcony span around jerkily, clinking the bottles in his hand together. “You're still here!” He heard Dean voice blurt out, surprise and gladness all evident in his tone. Cas hesitated a moment before feeling his throat relax. This was Dean after all. “Yes. I went to smoke and met Bobby.” Castiel heard a warm noise as Dean seemed to hum his approval, a grin clear on his face despite the darkness.

 

D ean jerked his head behind him  then , indicating that Cas ought to join him  in watching the crowds from above . Castiel car e fully locked the door behind him,  still irritated that he had forgotten before , and went to  stand next to Dean. “You don't mind?” Dean asked, looking a little guilty in the light of the fire. Cas only frowned, and tilted his head in question. “That I came up here? I saw Eileen was down, but when you didn't show after a while, I just came to check on ya.”  Cas saw him smile hesitantly in the light of the bonfire. “ Got a beer if you want one?” He questioned too, to which Cas nodded and allowed Dean to place an opened bottle in his hand. It was a little flat,  testimony to how long Dean ha d been  waiting, or hoping, for him to return. “Thanks.” He grunted, and took a sip, the cool beer making him realise just how warm he was feeling despite  shivering when he had met Bobby. Castiel assumed the balcony was better protected from the evening breeze, despite the chilled air ruffling his hair.

 

He scanned what he could see of the garden below them once more. It had filled up significantly since Eileen had left to return to the party. Dean seemed to sense his interest and started narrating. “That's mom and dad, as you probably worked out. John and Mary.” He nodded in their direction. “Millie's my only sister. You met Sam and Harry.” A dark expression crossed his features. “That's Benny, oh you met him too. He's one of my best friends.” Cas smiled and he felt a strange sensation, like a weight being removed, fill his chest. “The blonde is Jo, ditto a friend. Erm, let's see. Over there, the sour looking witch is Agatha, one of mom's friends, only they're not really so friendly since we, um, kind of helped to enlighten my mom.” Castiel frowned at the cryptic description, but didn't question it. 

 

He listened idly to Dean's relaxed and amusing descriptions of all the guests that walked close enough to see. He revelled in the fact that Dean could talk and not expect anything in return, beyond grateful that he had not questioned him about his talk with Eileen. He was beginning to appreciate Dean more and more. He suddenly needed to ask Dean if he considered them friends. He needed it spoken out loud if they were, needed it vocalised. Having only heard the words from Charlie before, he desperately needed the validation that those words brought him. He opened his mouth to ask as Dean rambled, waiting for the man to fall quiet again. “-and that's Dorothy I think. Benny mentioned her. She works with Jo. Kicks ass at bowling seemingly. I guess that's her girlfriend, the one with red hair. That relationship really pissed off old Agatha over there! Look at her scowl!” He crowed quietly in glee.

 

The words he had been about to ask, words it had taken minutes of churning thought to gear up to saying were stolen from him as his eyes fell upon Charlie. “That's my boss.” He said, the first words from his mouth since accepting his beer. Dean pulled upright, no longer leaning against the metalwork and looked directly at Cas. “Cinema or.. um, you said you're a programmer?” 

 

Cas nodded, still watching Charlie interact with her girlfriend. “She's my boss at the games company. Charlie. I program computer games for her. Oh.” He stopped short. “She appears to know your brother.” Dean turned back to the party below to see Charlie hugging Sam. “Huh. Games company? Sammy mentioned he was sorting out some dispute between two companies.” 

 

Castiel nodded. “Yes, there were some issues of copyright I believe.”

 

Dean turned back to Castiel, and Cas saw from the corner of his eye that Dean was chewing his lip. “Er. You wanna, um, go say hi? Eileen's down there too, and well, I don't know if you like him, but I invited Ash too. He was going to cover your shift at the cinema, but Chuck was there so….” Castiel turned and eyed Dean. He did want to say hello to his friend, but he did not want to have a pile of Winchesters thrown at him. “And, we need fresh beers, y'know.” Dean interrupted before looking intently at Castiel, still silent. “I can go down first and send Harry to make smores. They'll keep him and the others away from you for a while. That sound cool?” 

 

Castiel marvelled at the way that Dean seemed to know what was bothering him. He bit his lip a little before ducking his head in  acquiescence.  Smiling Dean turned and bounced away, pulling the door closed quietly behind him.

 

-

 

It took Dean, he estimated after the fact, roughly sixty seconds to be almost floored with relief that Castiel had remained in the room above. 

 

He entered his parents yard from their back door. The glinting lights almost drowned out by the roaring fire. Before he had even had a chance to scan the space, looking for Harry in order to distract him, he heard the raised voice of his mother. “Oh God, no.” He groaned to himself and edged in that direction through the throng, buffeted and greeted by family and friends, smiling faces and unaware elbows coming at him from all sides.

 

Dean came to a complete stand still though, as he reached the edge of a clearing in the mass of people and took in the scene before him. Mary was standing, arms folded across her chest, a scowl to match the best of Dean's spread across her face. In front of her was stood Agatha. Agatha of the poisonous views and the homophobic attitude. Agatha who was openly, loudly and joyously insulting her gay niece, who Dean could see standing across the circle, mere feet away, a black expression pasted across her features. Cas' boss, Charlie, gripped her arm tightly to stop her from pushing forward to stand with Mary. 

 

“No Agatha!” Mary's shrill voice suddenly cut through the noise of the evening. Even the fire seemed to stop spitting and crackling momentarily to listen. “I do not want to hear it any more!” Dean cringed as he heard his mom's voice crack, knowing it was his out burst that had caused the turmoil his mother was going through.

 

“I have met Dorothy, and her girlfriend, _Agatha_! They are lovely people. I will admit, I have not always been sympathetic to their… Situation. Orientation. But what harm does it do? Love is love. It should not matter to _you_ where it comes from, especially when their love has not one tiny little thing to do with you!” Mary swiped angrily at tears that were starting to creep from the corners of her eyes. 

 

“Well!” Agatha exploded, indignation written clear all over her face. “You've changed your tune! I suppose you think it's perfectly acceptable for your eldest to still be unmarried now too hmm?” She asked, a sly grin on her sharp face, as if she had scored a point. 

 

Again, Mary's voice cracked. Agatha's out burst appeared to be destroying at last vestiges of her previously held beliefs. Fresh, new, acceptance poured forth. Mary pulled her self up, hands upon her hips. “I do. As a matter of fact Agatha, I do.” She took a step froward, tear tracks on her cheeks catching in the light from the bonfire. “My children, each and every one of them have their own path to follow. And, I hope that from this day forward, they will feel safe and free to do so, without judgement or shame.” Mary took another step and stabbed her finger against Agatha's heart. “And I hope to God that they feel they can count on me, their fucking mother, _Agatha_ , to support and help and love them exactly as they are. Now and in the future. For the rest of their lives.”

 

Agatha looked affronted, as if the jab Mary had made, had burned. She looked sick.

 

“But your son is pathetic! He's thirty-two and hasn't settled down! What the hell is he thinking? Is he ga-” Agatha exploded before being cut off as, suddenly, from across the yard a voice cut through the fight. Dean's head whipped around to identify the speaker. “Oh because at thirty-two he's so old and over the hill that he may as well be dead?” Charlie yelled, a sneer on her face “Well, I'm sorry Agatha, but being gay or single are hardly the worst things on the planet.” Dorothy was tugging at her arm, this time, trying to quiet her but Charlie ignored her, staring down Agatha furiously.

 

Before Mary could refute Agatha and back up Charlie, Agatha spluttered even more insults. “And what about you daughter in law? The disabled one? You remember? And her awful family. A mental patient as a mother for heavens sake! And didn't you say that the brother had turned up? Some kind of degenerate?”

 

“Enough!” Yelled Mary, face red with fury. “I said goth. Agatha. Goth. And I heartily regret telling you anything. In fact I regret our entire acquaintance. I love my _disabled_ daughter-in-law. I hope that Castiel will one day forgive me. And I couldn't give two shits about their past or background and never have! They're both a part of the family now, which means love and forgiveness and having each other's backs and- and-” Words seemed to fail Mary and she turned toward the fire, shoulders slumping as her energy suddenly seemed to leave her. “Get out.” She whispered, and despite the fire, despite the numbers of people crowding the yard, despite having her back turned to the woman, Agatha heard. They all did.

 

Her sharp featured face blanched.

 

She turned.

 

She left.

 

Dean thought that maybe Charlie was the one to start it, it certainly began in that part of the yard, but applause broke out, yelling and whooping, and John came up behind Mary and enveloped her in a hug, smattering her face in kisses, holding on tight as Mary slumped against him, letting him hold her up as she broke down in heaving sobs.

 

-

 

Castiel stood aghast, hands gripped tight on the dull metal railing of the balcony. He had almost left when he was brought up in the argument. He could see Mary clearly from the vantage point, but her opponent was hidden from view by the building, and Mary's expression had stopped him in his tracks. Her words had not helped her case much with Castiel, but her face had said everything. She meant it. She considered him her family, whether he wanted it, accepted it, or whole heartedly rejected it, she would still, now, accept him. 

 

He was floored.

 

“Um, Cas?” Came a quiet query from behind him. 

 

Dean.

 

He couldn't turn around but he nodded to show he had heard. “Uh, Shit.” Dean whispered under his breath, the sound only just carrying to Cas. “A little help buddy?” Castiel looked over his shoulder at Dean's slightly high pitched, panicked sounding voice and stopped dead a moment in surprise. He saw Dean juggling four beer bottles, already opened, and two plates, piled high with steaming meat, salad and bread.

 

He rushed forward, biting back a laugh, and took one of the plates and two of the bottles, raising an eyebrow in question. He had hoped that Dean would return when Cas didn't appear in the yard, but he hadn't expected him to come back so soon, and not with supplies. Dean didn't even need Castiel to articulate his questions. “Figured after that display you'd wanna stay up here.” And Dean smiled, open and honest and not in the least irritated with Cas' ineptitude. “But, there's a caveat.” Castiel looked back up and locked eyes with Dean. There was a glint of mischief in his expression. Cas placed his burden down on the bedside table next to him and turned back to Dean, assessing. 

 

“Well, you wanted to see Charlie right?” Cas nodded warily, wondering where this was going. He _had_ said he could stay up here hadn't he? He wouldn't make him leave after all? Dean simply smiled a little ruefully and kicked at the door behind him with his heel before walking out to the balcony. 

 

Castiel was stuck like a deer in the headlights as, at Dean's kicked sign, Charlie walked in and launched her self at him in a full body hug. He caught her and held her to him, revelling for the first time in the physicality. Behind her though, before Castiel could greet his friend with words, Charlie's girlfriend walked in, raising her hand in silent greeting, a half smile on her face. Sam's giant figure eclipsed Eileen's as they both slipped in to the room, Sam holding plates filled with BBQ meat and Eileen had their son perched, half asleep, on her hip. A cool box full of clinking beer bottles seemed to enter next, held by Dean's large friend, Benny, and lastly, Ash's skinny frame and ridiculous hair entered, a massive bag of chips clutched to his chest.

 

Castiel hadn't been in the company of this many people in such close quarters since college. He felt himself go rigid and a cold sweat break out across his forehead. He dropped Charlie rather inelegantly to her feet. 

 

But, nothing happened. 

 

Charlie slapped him on the shoulder before going to steal some ribs from Sam's plate, Sam smiled at him and walked past to the balcony, Ash grinned and offered him some chips, to which he shook his head. Dorothy had already slipped outside and was leant against the railing, Eileen smiled at him, a little red eyed, (Robby blew a spit bubble,) before going to join Sam. Benny picked up one of the opened bottles Castiel had put down earlier and placed it back in his hand before hefting the cooler of beer to the balcony where everyone now stood in anticipatory silence. 

 

Cas turned about and found a group of people all happily chewing and swigging and not one of them cared that he was there – in a good way. There were no snide glances, no muttering, no excited yelling. No one was telling him he wasn't good enough, no one was uncomfortable with his silence.

 

“Hey, Cas, buddy. You gotta try that chicken. Eileen made the glaze. Man, it's the best.” He watched as Dean shot Eileen a grin and quickly signed something at her, before taking a massive bite, orange glaze dropping on to his chin and groaning with delighted pleasure. He watched Eileen roll her eyes.

 

Castiel couldn't help it.

 

He laughed.

 

Perhaps a little hysterically, but he laughed nonetheless. Only dean's pleased, half hitched smile gave away that anyone had noticed.

 

“Here we go.” Benny cut in, “John's got the stick.” He said, grinning. Castiel moved forward and squeezed on to the balcony, beer in hand, frowning at Benny's comment.

 

He saw where everyone was staring, and found Dean's father holing a length of something in his hand, the end smouldering slowly. “It's called a punk.” Cas corrected before his defensive silence kicked back in. He stiffened, expecting a back lash, anticipating someone scoffing or laughing in his face as they had at school and college any time he had spoken up. Benny looked toward him and Cas felt the blood drain from his face. “Really?” He asked, surprise in his expression and voice. “Huh. Weird.” And the man turned back to the beginnings of the display happening beneath them without another word.

 

Castiel went to retrieve his second beer, sinking the first one during the three strides back in to the room to where he had left it. 

 

He watched the fireworks. And, he watched his new family. Potentially, even, his friends. He watched the green, blue and gold flares glitter in Dean's excited eyes. He saw gold light bathe Benny, Ash and Sam. Eileen and Robby glowed as showers of pink and white sparks fell to the ground. Charlie and Dorothy flickered in red and orange. 

 

He returned his gaze to the sky, feeling for maybe the first time since his mother was taken from him, a sense of belonging. Or maybe, he reassessed, it was the first time since the last time he had sat and watched fireworks, in the pouring rain with a stranger, feeling at ease like never before.

 

-

 

 

It was quiet again, everyone but Dean having descended again to the revelries below. Castiel had told Dean that he could go too, he wouldn't mind being left alone or even leaving, but Dean had just smiled and shook his head, handing across yet another bottle of beer.

 

Dean yawned as he sat, leant against the exterior wall of the house, hemmed in by the balcony's limits. Castiel eyed him forgetting that most people didn't habitually stay awake until past six in the morning just because they forgot to stop working. They had been sitting for hours, one either side of the open double doors that led back in to the guest bedroom behind them. They had chatted and sat in silence too, always comfortable, just soaking up the atmosphere and noise of the party surrounding them, without actually being a part of it. Dean had even confirmed Castiel's stuttering and embarrassed query about whether he considered him a friend, with a laugh and a smile.

 

Lazily, they exchanged facts about themselves and stories of their exploits, Dean having many more tales to tell. Their speech was heavy with the beer and comfortable because of it. Castiel had rarely ever felt so at ease, and never in the company of another.

 

Apropos of nothing, Castiel finally blurted a thought that he had been dwelling on since Dean's mom's argument earlier in the evening. “The dates you went on. They stemmed from your mother's belief you ought to be married already?”

 

Dean tilted his head to look at Cas, an expression that Castiel could not work out written across his features. “Ex-belief, thankfully, but yeah.” He answered, shrugging. “Ex?” 

 

Dean sighed. “Yeah. She's come pretty far in only a couple of weeks. I kinda kicked off at her for- well, you heard what Agatha was sayin'.” Dean paused, rubbing his thumb up and down the neck of the bottle propped up on his knee. “She didn't understand that I was happy single. I liked everything about my life. I had kind of a shitty relationship a while back. Last year. And- Well, mom seemed to think that, despite knowing how awful that was, that I should still have been married. Maybe not to Amara, but married none the less. She had somehow convinced her self that it was wrong that Sammy got hitched and had a kid before me. And no matter how much I argued that I liked everything exactly as it was, she didn't seem to get it. So she, Harry and Millie decided to find me someone.” He thunked his head back against the wall, a twisted expression pulling at his features. “But, apart from the fact that none of them were exactly partner material for me, they just didn't get that I liked everything how it was.”

 

Castiel raised an eyebrow, even though Dean wasn't looking at him. “You keep using the past tense.” He stated, voice low.

 

Dean's head jerked up after a moment of total inaction. Castiel had though he hadn't heard him. Dean's glassy eyes, reflecting the dying embers of the fire, turned to fix Castiel with a hard stare. “I-” He began but broke off. Castiel, the beer helping him remain relaxed, was able to just wait, to keep eye contact and allow Dean time to think. He didn't even wonder why Dean needed the time.

 

Dean cleared his throat. “I'm not as happy as I thought I was I guess.” Castiel frowned, concerned. “No, that's not true.” His friend continued. “Everything's the same, I'm happy, I just guess I can see that there could be more, now.” He watched the line of Dean's throat, his head still tilted back against the wall, as he swallowed hard. “I guess I've kinda met someone-” He trailed off and closed his eyes, an expression of pain on his face.

 

And, while Castiel didn't really understand why Dean would be in pain, he also couldn't fathom why it felt as if someone had punched him in the gut all of a sudden, just as his walls slammed back up, sobriety hit and numbness descended.

 

He didn't get up and flee, despite wanting to. He was confused, if Dean liked someone he ought to be happy for his friend. Instead he felt detached. 

 

Dean was biting his lip, staring blankly into the fire, but, as if he could feel Cas' gaze upon him, he turned his head again to look right at Cas, eyes wide and pleading, but Castiel had no clue what about. He had to look down at his feet, encased in their heavy leather boots as usual, he couldn’t maintain eye contact when Dean looked like that. Looked _at him_ like that. 

 

Suddenly he felt uncomfortable, like he hadn't all night, not even when Dean had sneaked him in the house, not even when he had brought his family up to watch the fireworks all together. 

 

He dug his phone from his pocket. “I have to go. It's late.” He ground out, not even noticing the myriad of emotions that drifted across Dean's face. He simply saw the other man nod silently, head down and eyes glued to the beer bottle in his hand. “Okay Cas.” He said lowly. “I'll call you a cab.”

 

-

 

“Hello?” Castiel answered his phone, frowning, inside the taxi, street lights flashing past. 

 

“Hey Cas. I- What happened?” Charlie questioned, voice tentative. “What do you mean?” He grunted out, a foul mood beginning to swirl under the remnants of beer and anxiety filling his gut. 

 

“I mean, Dean's back in the yard, setting marshmallows alight over the bonfire alone, and you're no where to be found. That's what I mean.” Charlie's tone wasn't accusatory. Castiel could almost, _almost,_ detect a hint of concern.

 

“I… Just felt that it was time to leave.” He heard a sigh crackle static through the line. “Cas-” Her tone held warning, but for what, Castiel didn't know. He screwed up his face in frustration with himself. “Dean was telling me that he had found some one that he thought he liked. I didn't want to take up any more of his time, assuming that the person was at the party.” It wasn't strictly true, by any means, but he couldn't explain the mass of squirming discomfort in his belly.

 

It took a few moments of listening to the sounds of the party filtering through the receiver before Charlie sighed once more. “Oh honey.” She said quietly. “I'm going to pop my head in before I have to leave tomorrow okay?” Castiel nodded before answering, wondering what her soft tone implied. “Okay.”

 

-

 

Castiel flicked the switch on the film for the evening and slunk back through the foyer and out in to the fresh evening air. He rarely watched the Thursday evening films, often taking the time to read through his meagre collection of books. But today, his thoughts were swirling too hard. 

 

He rolled a cigarette as he dwelt on the events of the past twenty-four hours. 

 

He felt good about almost everything that happened at the party the previous evening. The familiarity of the faces that had joined him and Dean on that balcony to watch the fireworks was slowly sinking in to him as something good and pleasant. He didn't feel entirely comfortable, and believed he never would, but he hadn't been made to feel an outsider.

 

He smiled at the thought as he lit the cigarette and took his first drag. The later events, when he had been alone with Dean though, had him confused. He could not fathom what had happened, to Dean, his expression, nor to himself with the physical onslaught he had endured. He shook his head lightly as the hazy purple of dusk started to crawl up the sky.

 

Charlie's reaction to his leaving also confused him. Although that was only the second time they had met, they had spoken for years on the internet. She knew him better than anyone, which, he admitted was not saying much. She should not have been surprised that he had left, no matter the reason. He was even more perplexed by her phone call to him, and her soft tone. It had seemed almost pitying, but he wasn't socially adept enough to know for sure.

 

Further to that, Charlie had, as promised, visited him before getting her flight. She had opened with mentioning that she was thinking of moving back to her home city, hiring a manager for the office and running the business from home. She had been seeing Dorothy long distance for four years, and while Dorothy could not move because of her job, Charlie could. She could relocate the entire thing if she wished. After that she had asked him a whole series of strange and unrelated questions such as whether he ever felt lonely, or if he had ever been on a proper date. 

 

With total confusion he had answered most of her questions as honestly as possible, but he had never worked out her agenda. She had ended by asking if he had ever been aware of his hook-ups flirting with him. His answer of; “Never, why would they? We just leave together.” Seemed to satisfy her and she left in a whirlwind of red hair, smiles, promises to visit soon and hints to keep to his deadlines.

 

He had rolled his eyes and started getting ready for his shift at the cinema.

 

It was only when the door next to him pushed open and the first gawky regular walked through that he realised the film had ended. He stubbed out the cigarette on the tarmac, wondering how many he had smoked through during the showing. The floor littered with stub ends was too telling, and he made a note to sweep up before he left for the weekend.

 

Cas was still lost in thought when he pulled up in his usual space in the car park for his building, having driven home without paying nearly enough attention. He locked the car, patting her roof as he walked past toward the main door. He was staring at the ground, biting his lip thinking around and around Dean's strange behaviour the previous night. He couldn't understand why Dean had looked so sad while telling him about discovering he liked someone.

 

“Dean!” He yelped in surprise as he almost tripped over the prone form of the man his thought's had so recently been focused on. The man was sitting on the floor of the hall way, leaning against Cas' front door, legs splayed out in front of him. “Heya Cas.” Dean smiled up at him before pushing himself off the ground, lifting a backpack with him. “I just wanted to see how you were doin' after yesterday.” He said, the usual happy lilt in his voice absent, despite the smile on his face. He looked sad but hopeful, Cas thought. He wondered why, before realising he needed to greet his friend.

 

“I- I'm fine.” He gritted out, suddenly anxious and even more confused about recent events. 

 

“I, er- I wondered if you fancied a movie? I got burgers in here from that joint down the street, and a couple of sodas that could do with going in your fridge…?” He made the entire sentence sound like a question, as if he expected Castiel to send him away. He was fidgeting with the straps of the backpack held in his hands. “It's okay if you'd rather not...” Dean continued, and his face fell, Castiel realised, with the brief thought following quickly on it's heels that he was getting better at reading people. Or perhaps it was just Dean he could read.

 

Cas didn't bother answering Dean verbally, but simply shoved his key in the lock and held the door open for him to go in first.

 

Castiel watched as Dean pulled a tightly wrapped plastic bag, which as soon as Dean tweaked the opening, let forth a gush of heavenly smelling steam. From within he withdrew four packets wrapped in grease proof paper. Next, came a clinking 6-pack of soda which he handed to Cas, and then the cover of Star Wars, A New Hope, with a shrug. “Not seen it in ages, you don't mind?” 

 

Cas smiled and shook his head.

 

A shadow of the feeling he had experienced the night before swirled in his gut, but he shook his head and placed the soda in his near empty fridge. He wanted to spend an evening experiencing friendship like a normal person with out his stomach acting as if it were on a roller-coaster. “Shut up.” He whispered at his own abdomen before turning around and re-entering his lounge. Dean had spread the two sets of burgers and fries on their wrappings on the tiny coffee table which he had pulled close to the hardly used sofa. Castiel sat and started the movie, re-living his favourite film, his favourite story, the thing that helped in through some of the hardest times in his life, the thing he had-

 

“Holy Shit! I've just worked out what your fucking tattoo is. Jesus Cas, you got the light and the dark side tattooed in a fuckin' yin and yang across you're entire torso?” Castiel jerked back in shock at Dean's sudden outburst. They hadn't even got that far in to the film yet. He was amazed Dean remembered what his tattoos looked like from the extremely brief moment he had seen them that first night watching the Industrial Quarter burn, although the lines and tendrils of zeros and ones flowing down his arms and legs, and even up hi neck would be a constant reminder, he supposed.

 

“Um, also a set of falcon wings on my back and an interpretation of a light sabre at my hip, among others. All made from the scripts translated in to binary.” He had never told anyone that before, and he bit his lip, allowing the soundtrack of the film to fill the suddenly awkward silence. 

 

“The films' meaning… It was the only thing that… It, um, means a lot.” He finished, eyes downcast, unable to explain to Dean just what the film meant to him.

 

“Dude,” Dean looked at him square in the eye. “I get it. Fighting the Dark Side, finding your way to the Light, an evil father, being “special”. I can see how the trilogy spoke to ya.” And with that Dean slumped back on his sofa, a strange smile lighting his face.

 

Castiel sat back too, and watched the film that he literally had written across his skin. He had spent every evening he could watching old VHS in Frank's back room, and later, when he had escaped to college, and hated interacting with the gregarious and judgemental, even bullying, students, he had saved up and bought the trilogy on DVD, watching them until the discs wore out. He got the first part of his tattoo within weeks of settling in at school, holding on to the knowledge that the Light could always, and would always overcome his bastard of a father. 

 

It didn't take long for Castiel to relax once more, Dean's acceptance without judgement once more calming him. He forgot his awkwardness in the warmth of his company, sometimes silent, sometimes exchanging words, but always comfortable. The only painful part of the evening after describing what the ink adorning his body really meant to him, was saying a stilted good bye to his friend on the doorstep, Dean's smile was the saddest he had ever seen it. He wanted to make that easy, glowing smile return, but it seemed to be gone, left with something that felt hollow and empty.

 

-

 

_ Hello Eileen,  _ Castiel signed, as  he walked in to  _Gabriel's_ and sat opposite his sister. He was still  finding interaction difficult, no easier  despite his recent rush of meetings with various people.  At least, once he learnt to sign properly, he wouldn't have to speak. He was looking forward to the point when having a sister and two friends seemed normal to him, rather than something terrifying and new.

 

It was Sunday afternoon and the café was mostly empty. He had spent his morning learning to sign hello, and the alphabet, but that was as far as he had got. At his greeting though, Eileen grinned and seemed to light up. “And, hello Robbie.” He added out loud, smiling ant the cookie covered baby.

 

“Robbie,” Eileen spoke out loud, getting her son's attention. “Meet your uncle Cas.” And, with that, She stood and plopped the child in to Castiel's lap. “But- I- I don't-” Eileen laughed and shook her head. “It's fine. He'll amuse himself. He's a good boy.” She said fondly. 

 

After two superbly made black coffees and a few hours of chatting with his sister about their jobs, her nuclear family, stupid stories about her adopted parents who had moved to Europe once they retired, they talked about Millie, Harry and Dean.

 

Castiel was absent-mindedly squidging Robbie's legs where they were sleepily draped over Cas' knees, sipping at his drink, when Eileen suddenly stopped her story about the first time Dean had held his nephew. “-and he was so terrified of dropping him, his face was white as a-” She laughed gently mid-sentence, a smile in her voice and her eyes soft. “You look like such a sap when you think about him y'know?” She asked softly.

 

Instantaneously , all within the space of a second,  Castiel's world span through a  complete  one-eighty. 

 

He experienced vertigo and the swooping sensation of falling all at once. His vision swam and his ears hissed. He froze but felt as if he was moving at speed. Possibly off the edge of a cliff.

 

“I do?” Was all he choked out around his seized lungs as he fell, coughing up the coffee he had swallowed the wrong way in shock.

 

Eileen simply smiled and nodded knowingly.

 

-

 

Dean was still grumbling to himself about the previous Thursday, spending the evening with Castiel watching Star Wars. “Damn Charlie and her stupid suggestions. Should have just left him alone. The guy needs space. I'm his friggin' _friend_. Why she thought he'd like to see me I don't know. Idiot, Winchester, you're an idiot. Stop getting' your hopes up. It's pretty damned obvious by now that he doesn't feel that way about you. You've given him enough hints and opportunities by now. You're happy single, anyway, remember? You like your life, with Bobby and dad and Harry, Millie, mom, Sam and Eileen. The beach-ball and Benny. You like cooking and cars and movies- Fuck. No you don't like movies any more. You have a sudden aversion- Oh, Fuck!” 

 

He said the last two words out loud, louder than intended, as he dropped the wrench he was tightening bolts with. 

 

“You okay there Dean?” Bobby yelled from across the shop, finally given clearance from Dean and John to work on cars once more.

 

“Yeah, yeah, 'm good.” 

 

He grunted as he bent to pick up the wrench, but it had bounced off the steel toe cap of his boot, spinning far underneath the car. 

 

Dropping to his knees, he struggled to reach, his finger tips just brushing the wrench, stubbornly just out of reach. He grunted as he pushed another inch forward, shoulder pressing uncomfortably against the door of the car as the unmistakable growl of a vintage motor filled the garage. The rumble of the engine cut off just a Dean's fingers wrapped around the handle of the tool. The slam of the door sounded as Dean managed to drag the wrench properly with in his grasp. “Dean-” Bobby said, uncharacteristically quietly. “Customer.” 

 

Dean rolled back on his his heels and took in the terribly parked, red and black striped,1969 Camaro, the scuffed black boots, the ruined black jeans, the vintage, faded clockwork Orange t-shirt complete with a recent looking coffee stain and black leather jacket. He took in the smudged eye liner, the messy dark hair. The pink cheeks and fevered expression. The sweat sheened brow and the shaking hands twiddling an unlit cigarette.

 

“Hey Cas.” He said, breathlessly, lightly, almost in audible, from his spot on the floor. “What's up? Car trouble?”

 

This was his buddy, and after Thursday, when he had _been there_ , when Castiel had repeatedly called him friend once again, the only reason he would be here, looking stressed and panicked, would be that his car was in need of repair. Castiel was coming to his _friend_ for help. That was call. No need to get a dry mouth looking up at his wide eyed, dishevelled appearance. No need to smile at how his fingers lingered on the wing mirror of his car. No need to feel all warm at the way he needed to gear up to speak. Just a friend, come to ask for help. That was all.

 

“Will you go out with me?” 

 

Castiel blurted the words so fast it took a moment for Dean to understand, and when he did-

 

Dean dropped the wrench again.

 

Wide eyed, mouth open, disbelieving, Dean nodded his head slowly, silently, wondrously.

 

His face only melted in to a grin when Castiel's head dropped back on his shoulders, eyes closed and whispered “thank fuck,” to the ceiling. 

 

“I thought you'd never ask,” Dean said around the grin, getting to his feet and walking toward Castiel as if he was a wild animal, slowly, carefully. 

 

“I didn't- I didn't kno- I didn't understand. And, then I did, and I thought that maybe I was wrong and you didn't like me after all. And then- But you said yes.” Castiel bit his lip to stop his babbling, exhaling heavily, a hint of a smile just starting to touch his lips as he finally met Dean's gaze full on.

 

-

 

Castiel didn't get the chance to grin properly himself, the soaring and plummeting of his belly and nerves cut off abruptly as Dean collided with him, arms wrapped about him tightly, holding on as his lips, ever so softly, slowly and sweetly, met his own.

 

-

 

“Idjits.” Bobby muttered as he made himself scarce, flipping the sign to 'closed,' early, for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finiiiiished! And extra thanks to Reafre for your long suffering support of my flailing during this fic! ;)


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